


Take Care (of Yourself)

by purplestarfish



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asexual Character, Asexual!Clint Barton, Cuddling & Snuggling, Everyone lives/Nobody dies, Fluff, M/M, Massage Therapy AU, Phil Coulson Needs a Hug, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved!Phil Coulson, cuddle therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-04 13:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14020926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplestarfish/pseuds/purplestarfish
Summary: Phil Coulson doesn't know what to expect when he stumbles (accidentally) into Clint's massage parlor late one night. He might just find exactly what he needs.In which Phil is a badass S.H.I.E.L.D. agent but a mess of a human being, and Clint just wants to make sure he's okay.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've written the whole story, so it'll go up in bits but it will all go up! I'll post any warnings I think of in the notes, but let me know if there's something I've missed.
> 
> This is my first fic so please be nice! That said, constructive feedback is wonderful, and I'll love you forever if you leave kudos and comment!

Phil Coulson meticulously retied his tie, put back on his suit jacket, and combed his hair which had begun to stick straight up from hours of roughly pulling at it in an effort to stay awake. He got up from his desk chair, opened his briefcase, and filled it with several files worth of paperwork he hoped to get through over the weekend. He took one last look at his e-mail to ensure there were no further emergencies before closing his laptop down and moving it to join the paperwork in his briefcase. He walked straight-backed towards the door, strode near-silently down the empty corridor, and exited S.H.I.E.L.D. premises for the first time in over 72 hours.

 

He breathed a deep sigh of relief.

 

Phil Coulson was nothing if not dedicated to his job, and this was by no means the first time he had worked through the night, nor for that matter the first time he had worked several nights in a row. S.H.I.E.L.D. was the type of workplace where apocalypse-grade emergencies were commonplace and non-hyperbolic. So Phil understood that there were times when you cracked your knuckles, plied yourself with coffee, and you stayed awake for as long as it took to resolve the issue.

 

Knowing you had saved the world for the third time in as many months made it well worth the effort.

 

Phil’s aching neck and back might not always agree, but every time he drank down his morning Tylenol with his coffee he reminded himself how much less painful this life was than the one he had had for so many years as a field agent.

 

Not an hour and fifteen minutes ago, Fury had been in his office congratulating Phil on a successful mission. Fury had released Phil with strict instructions to go home and get some sleep – “and don’t come back until Monday – I expect you rested and operating at 100%” – but Phil knew there was still paperwork that had to be done before the case could be considered closed. He had just now finished dotting his i’s and crossing his t’s on the most important bits, the ones that couldn’t wait until the morning when Phil’s eyes had stopped swimming, and the migraine he could feel starting to build had hopefully dissipated.

 

As Phil walked home through the city that never slept, he thought back to the other order Fury had given him as he was leaving his office. He chuckled to himself slightly at the memory of the words, “And get a goddamned massage!” coming out of his boss’s mouth in that gruff tone. He wasn’t sure a massage was exactly his style, but he appreciated the thought all the same.

 

Phil fiddled in his briefcase for a Tylenol as he felt his neck start to seize up from the sudden change of position after so many hours bent over his desk. He sighed in relief when his fingers found the bottle, but then cursed as he realized it was empty. Did he have the energy to stop by a pharmacy for more on his way home? He worried he might fall asleep in the checkout line. Perhaps it would be best to leave the painkillers for the morning.

 

As his back jolted again and he realized waiting until tomorrow simply wasn’t an option, Phil hung a left towards where he knew the closest pharmacy to his office was. He’d gone there before in the middle of the night, so it should still be open.

 

He saw lights as he approached the store, but realized as he got closer that they were coming from a small doorway just past it. _Fuck_ , Phil thought _, What time is it? The place can’t be closed – it just can’t, I won’t be able to make it if it is, so it must not be._

 

He checked his watch – Saturday, August 19 at 2:07 a.m. God, and he’d been in the office since first thing Tuesday morning – that was longer that he’d thought, though he couldn’t do the math just at that moment to figure out how much longer. The sign on the door said the place was open until 1:00 a.m. daily. Phil cursed under his breath and made to continue on his way home.

 

Just as he was approaching the small shop hiding behind the pharmacy with its lights still on, he was startled as the door swung open and almost hit him in the face. He jumped back to avoid it, then grimaced in pain as his back seized. _I really needed that Tylenol_ , he thought miserably.

 

Cringing with the effort of pulling his head up to face his accidental assailant, he noticed the man was staring at him. _Seems rather rude_ , Phil thought bitterly, _the guy hasn’t even apologized for trying to take me out with his door, and now he has the gall to stare?_

The man in front of him may have sensed the sentiment, because he shook himself and ducked his head bashfully.

 

“Hey, sorry friend,” came a sincere voice, but one that grated at Phil’s worsening migraine. “Wasn’t looking where I was going.”

 

 _Clearly_ , thought Phil.

 

The man looked at him sheepishly. _Shit, did I say that out loud?_ Phil liked to think he generally had more tact than this, but then he generally hadn’t been awake for three days and wasn’t operating on a serious lack of painkillers.

 

The man just laughed. “Heh, yeah you did, but that’s cool. You all right, pal? No offense or anything, but you’re not looking so great.”

 

 _He’s one to talk_ , Phil thought grumpily _, I bet this guy wakes up beautiful._

The lack of more than a vaguely curious look from the guy suggested Phil had successfully kept at least that comment to himself. As a spy, he really should be able to tell the difference between the words that came out of his mouth and those that stayed in his head.

 

The man waved a hand in front of Phil’s glazed-over face. “Hello?” he asked. Phil really needed to ask him to stop waving – his eyes naturally followed the movement, and it was doing no favors for his neck. Phil brought his hand up to rub at the base of his skull where it felt like most of the pain was originating.

 

“Heh,” Phil managed to get out, aiming for pleasantly flustered and not about-to-keel-over-god-please-just-strike-me-down-now-so-I-don’t-have-to-put-up-with-this-headache-anymore. “I guess I, uh… could use a massage?”

 

He figured that was an appropriate thing to say in the situation, something that just about anyone in this day and age could relate to, kind of on par with the weather. Strangely, though, it seemed to make the guy spring into action.

 

“Oh, of course, yeah! Please. Sorry, I was just closing for the night, but I’m always happy to take one last appointment. Never leave a customer hanging, am I right? Jeez, especially not one who looks like they need it as bad as you. I mean… sorry, but you do.”

 

Phil frowned in confusion. “I…”

 

“Here,” the guy swept his arm back, opening the door and gesturing for Phil to enter in front of him. “Please, come on in.”

 

Phil was in enough of a daze that he followed the simple instructions. Stepping into the small shop, the first thing he noticed was the almost overpowering scent of lavender. The second thing he noticed, squinting as the lights in the room still hadn’t been turned back on from when the guy had been locking up, was a large sign behind the front desk of the reception area reading _Hawkeye Massage Therapy._

 

 _Shit,_ Phil thought. _I didn’t mean to actually get a fucking massage, I was just making small talk._ He honestly wasn’t sure he could stay awake through one, and he didn’t feel the need to embarrass himself by starting to snore in front of this admittedly very attractive man. Not to mention all the highly confidential files in his briefcase that could go mysteriously missing should he doze off. That settled it, he needed to get out of here.

 

Then the lights turned on and all Phil could do was stumble backwards blindly and in pain, hoping he found the door before this probably-Hydra-assassin decided he was an easy target and strangled him to death in the middle of his front shop.

 

“Right this way,” the guy murmured, his right hand brushing the small of Phil’s back so gently and his voice so soft that Phil was following before he’d even processed the direction. If this did turn out to be some kind of set up, Phil was so getting fired for his incompetence.

 

He was led into a dark room, and flinched as the man behind him closed the door, expecting him to turn the lights on and blind Phil again. Instead, the man busied himself with lighting a few candles around the room.

 

“I’m Clint, by the way,” the man said as he went.

 

“Phil,” replied Phil automatically.

 

Clint smiled softly. “It’s very nice to meet you, Phil. Is this your first time getting a massage?” He said it non-judgmentally, but Phil felt embarrassed all the same. He hummed in the affirmative.

 

“Okay, great,” Clint replied. “In that case, I’ll make extra sure to let you know exactly what I’m doing before I do it. Are there any particular areas you’d like me to focus on today?”

 

This Phil knew the answer to. “Um, yeah, my neck…” He gestured vaguely.

 

“Desk job?” Clint chuckled as Phil nodded minutely. “All right, I’ll make sure your neck and upper back get a good working on. Now, I have a variety of massage oils that I use on my clients. Do you have any allergies you’re aware of?”

 

“Just cats,” Phil answered.

 

“Great, I’ll avoid the cat fur-based oils then,” joked Clint. “How about I start with something gentle like eucalyptus, and we’ll see how that goes for now? If anything starts to sting or burn, even a little, let me know right away and I’ll remove it, okay? Trust me, you don’t want to be itching for days because you thought you could tough out an allergic reaction.”

 

That all sounded just fine to Phil. He’d just finished scouting the room for escape routes, and was ready to get this show on the road.

 

“All right, I’m going to leave the room for just a couple of minutes to get ready. You can remove any clothing you’re comfortable with, and then lay face down on the table, under this top sheet and over the bottom one, face in the hole. I’ll knock before I come back in. Sound okay?”

 

Phil nodded warily.

 

“Any questions before I go?”

 

He shook his head and winced.

 

“Okay, I’ll see you soon.” And then Clint left the room and Phil was alone. He let himself wonder how the hell he’d gotten here.

 

Phil carefully removed his jacket, tie, and shirt, figuring it would be rather challenging to get at his neck with them on. Everything else he left on, though – he still wasn’t sure this wasn’t some kind of Hydra operation, and if he needed to make a sudden run for it, he’d really rather be clothed. Not that he hadn’t made a number of naked escapes in his life as a field agent, but it was hardly something he looked forward to.

 

Phil got settled under the blankets as Clint had instructed, and was struggling to keep his eyes open when he heard Clint’s soft knock and the door opening a crack.

 

“You ready to get started?” Clint called.

 

Phil had to clear his throat a couple times before he could croak out a rough “yeah”.

 

Clint came into the room and closed the door gently behind himself.

 

Phil could just barely make out Clint’s graceful movements across the floor of the massage room. He listened carefully as Clint grabbed something – a bottle of massage oil, presumably – and started rubbing it between his hands. He heard Clint open his mouth to prepare to speak.

 

“All right, Phil, how are you feeling? Comfortable?”

 

Phil grunted in response.

 

“Do you need anything before we get started? Water, Kleenex? I can turn up the heating pad on the bed if you aren’t warm enough?”

 

Phil shook his head – he was tingling in nervous anticipation and really didn’t want to prolong this any further.

 

“Okay, just let me know if you do need anything at any point. Just so you know, a lot of clients find they’re more comfortable with their socks and shoes off. It’s totally fine to leave them on, but feel free to flag me if you’d like them off at any point today, okay?”

 

“’Kay,” Phil managed.

 

“Great. I’m thinking I’ll focus on your neck and upper back here for about the first 45 minutes today, and then we’ll get you flipped over so I can work on your front and arms for another 15 or so. Does that sound like what you’re after?”

 

Phil hummed into his pillow.

 

“Are you comfortable with me touching your hair and face?”

 

Another hum.

 

“Okay, just let me know if there’s anything you don’t like, or anything you want me to stop. I’m going to start with a medium pressure since you’re new to this, but if it’s too much or not enough, just let me know and I’ll change it up, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Phil answered, getting slightly irritated by the length of this talk. He was pretty sure he’d given shorter mission briefings.

 

“Great, I’m going to touch your shoulders now,” Clint warned before doing just that.

 

For a moment, Clint’s hands felt just like what they were – hands touching his shoulders. He exhaled as Clint began to explore his back, and wondered vaguely whether this was really what everyone got so excited about when they complained about needing a massage.

 

Only an instant later though, and without warning, Phil suddenly felt a burning sensation rush through his body. And oh god, did it ever burn.

 

He cringed from the pain, but was careful not to let it show in his body as he assessed the situation. It hurt, it _really_ hurt, but it wasn’t as though Phil had never sat through worse pain before. He was tortured on a semi-regular basis, after all.

 

This was different, though, and Phil didn’t even think it was a reaction to the massage oil as Clint had suggested. This felt muscle-deep, bone-deep, and it ached and stung and flashed with searing pain that seemed to come in waves. It seemed to stem from the contact points of Clint’s hands, but radiated out to touch every last inch of him. He thought back to his wariness at entering the massage parlor, and his paranoid sense that it wasn’t what it claimed to be. He wasn’t sure if the pain he was feeling was some kind of new Hydra technique, but if it was, it was working.

 

All at once, Phil came back to himself and realized his body was being wracked with sobs.

 

“Phil?” Clint asked, and his hands stilled on Phil’s shoulder blades. Then all at once, they weren’t there anymore, and Phil expected to feel relief but instead he sobbed harder.

 

He needed to regain control. He didn’t remember the last time he’d been this vulnerable. What drugs was he on?

 

“Phil,” he heard Clint’s voice over the sound of his own sobs, “I need you to talk to me, okay? Tell me what’s wrong.”

 

Phil couldn’t catch his breath long enough to speak even if he’d had an answer for Clint. He pulled himself onto his side and curled up into a ball on the table. He opened his eyes and found Clint crouched in front of him, looking worried. Well, at least that suggested this wasn’t some great Hydra plot. Although he would have had an easier time reconciling himself with that than anything remotely innocent.

 

“Phil,” Clint continued, “I want you to breathe with me, okay? We’re gonna get through this together. Ready? Deep breath in, two, three, four…. Out, two, three, four… In, two, three, four…”

 

At first Phil could barely latch onto Clint’s count, but it continued steadily for several minutes, until Phil was able to match his breathing to Clint’s. When his breath finally stopped shaking and he started to feel a bit steadier, he sat up. Clint smiled.

 

“Hey, how’re you feeling?” he asked.

 

Phil nodded, cleared his throat. “I… I’m good. Sorry about that. Not sure what came over me.”

 

“Why don’t I give you a minute to get dressed, and then we can talk through what happened?”

 

Phil assumed Clint was trying to make him feel more comfortable by letting him put his shirt back on. While wearing a full suit and tie was the last thing he wanted right now, he figured it would at least give him a moment to get his bearings. He thanked Clint and watched him leave the room.

 

When Clint reentered, Phil was back to his professional-looking self, and starting to feel the part. He still sat on the massage table rather than a chair, but otherwise he could almost imagine he was in his office.

 

“So,” Clint started, “I’m guessing that took you a little bit by surprise?”

 

Phil smiled sheepishly and murmured his affirmation.

 

Clint continued on as though having grown men bawling their eyes out in his workplace was par for the course for two o’clock on a Saturday morning.

 

“Can I ask you, Phil, when the last time is you were touched? I don’t mean like sexually or anything, just… a hug? Pat on the back? Anything affectionate? If that’s too personal a question, you don’t have to answer. I don’t want to intrude, I just…”

 

It was apparent Clint wasn’t going to finish his sentence, but Phil found he needed a minute to think through his answer. When was the last time…? It wasn’t as if Phil didn’t get touched in some sense on a regular basis – he was still one of the top combatants at S.H.I.E.L.D., after all, and would regularly take down three or more of their top recruits at once in training. But he generally preferred fighting styles that used his opponents’ momentum against them and knocked them off their guard, rather than anything more physical like wrestling. It was certainly never affectionate…

 

He thought back to his relationship with Audrey. But that had been years ago. Had there really been nothing since…?

 

“It’s been a while,” he admitted.

 

Clint just looked at him knowingly. “I had my suspicions. Phil, what do you know about touch starvation? Or skin hunger?” At Phil’s blank look, he continued. “Did you ever hear of the experiments they did with baby monkeys? They took the monkeys away from their parents and gave them the option of two metal surrogate moms – one with food, but made out of wire, and one soft and furry. The monkeys inevitably chose the physical comfort over the one with the food. It’s the same with humans – we don’t always realize it, especially with how busy our lives are lately, but touch is one of our basic human needs. If you’re not getting enough of it, it can really mess with your health. And just like when a starving person is suddenly given a feast and gets sick, when you’ve starved yourself of touch and it gets reintroduced so quickly, it’s not always such a good feeling.”

 

Phil frowned in thought. What Clint was saying made sense, intellectually, but… could that really be him? Could he really have isolated himself so much that the simple press of hands on his back could reduce him to tears?

 

“Phil, I’m going to stop now for today, because I don’t think this is going to be productive when you’re so on edge. But I’d like for you to come back, and I’m going to give you some homework, okay? You know those big fluffy body pillows? I want you to go out and buy one of those, and I want you to sleep with it between now and the next time you come by. I want you to get used to feeling something soft on your skin. Can you do that for me?”

 

It didn’t seem likely, but Phil nodded anyway. He had no particular intention of trying massage therapy again anytime soon, so he figured he might as well humor the guy for now.

 

Clint didn’t seem convinced, but acquiesced. “Take as much time as you need getting organized. I’ll meet you out at reception when you’re ready.”

 

Phil did, and insisted on paying the full fee for the session even though it hadn’t gone exactly as planned. Clint had been an absolute professional in a humiliating situation, and had earned it.

 

He accepted when Clint gave him his business card, telling him that he could book future appointments either by phone or online. “And the second phone number on there is my personal cell – my clients are free to call anytime if they have a massage-related emergency,” he grinned. “If I don’t pick up, it means I’m with a client, but I’ll give you a call back ASAP.”

 

Phil thanked him.

 

“Take care,” Clint called out as Phil left the massage parlor. Phil smirked to himself at the irony of using such a greeting on a spy. If there was one thing Phil knew to be, it was careful – anything else could be life or death.


	2. Chapter 2

Phil didn’t think about his incredibly brief foray into massage therapy over the following days, too caught up in work and the thousand things on his to-do list to spare it the thought. That’s why he was as shocked as Clint was the following Sunday when he left the office around six in the evening and suddenly found himself in the massage parlor’s small reception area.

 

“Um…” he started when he realized Clint was staring at him from behind the desk. “Hi.”

 

 _Come on, you jackass, can’t you do better than that?_ Ran his internal monologue, reminding him not for the first time that he was a superspy and a professional and a grown ass adult. Natasha had told him recently that she regularly overheard junior agents using his name and “competence kink” in the same sentence – he wondered how those agents would feel if they saw the bumbling mess he turned into every time he tried to get a simple massage.

 

Clint, fortunately, only blinked once before springing into action. “Hey,” he chimed, “back for another go at it? Did you do your homework?”

 

Phil ducked his head. “Uhh… not really, no. I’ve been busy.”

 

He could read Clint’s face as he clearly made the conscious decision not to comment. “All right, well you just so happen to be in luck – I just finished with my last client of the evening and have time for a drop-in.”

 

Well, he was here, if unintentionally. And his neck was killing him – he was pretty sure he had whiplash from a sparring match with Natasha on Tuesday, and spending the week hunched over his desk hadn’t exactly helped speed his recovery.

 

“That sounds great,” he said, more casually that he felt.

 

“Great,” Clint repeated, then thought for a moment. “Phil, I’m going to offer you two choices for tonight, okay? I’m just as happy with either, so I’d like you to tell me honestly which you’d prefer.”

 

Phil wasn’t sure he liked where this was going. Shouldn’t there be a list of treatments somewhere for him to choose from? Or couldn’t Clint just work on his neck again, like he’d started to do last time?

 

Luckily for Phil, that was apparently the first option.

 

“We can do what we started last time you were here,” Clint began. “I can work on the tension in your neck and upper back. I’m happy to start as slowly as you want, spend some time getting you used to the feel of my hands on you before I really do anything.”

 

That sounded amazing. Still, Phil felt obligated to ask, “Or?”

 

“Or,” continued Clint, “I’m also licensed as something called a cuddle therapist. You may not have heard of it – it’s a relatively new field, but a lot of people have found it works wonders in dealing with the effects of touch starvation. Basically, we’d both keep on whatever clothes you felt comfortable with – I require both me and my clients to at least be wearing underwear, but anything more than that is fine too – and just get used to being in each others’ spaces. We can chat about anything – hobbies, work, the weather – whatever you like. I have a whole separate room in back laid out to make it more comfortable. So what do you think?”

 

Phil thought about the aching in his neck that he hadn’t had the chance to properly address last time – the pain he was sure was quickly becoming permanent. He thought about how great it would be to have even one fewer knot. But this… this sounded different. It sounded nice.

 

“The second one, please,” he whispered, blushing. He reminded himself that he was a badass superspy and didn’t need to resort to society’s ideals of toxic masculinity to feel good about himself.

 

Clint’s smile widened, making something deep inside Phil open up. “Great,” he said, “Right this way.”

 

The room Clint had laid out for these purposes looked a bit like a more spacious version of a teenager’s bedroom. The walls were painted a deep purple color. There was a large bed against one wall, an oversized couch against another. A soft-looking rug sat on the floor in front of the couch, with video game consoles and board games strewn haphazardly across the place. In the middle of the rug, there was also the biggest bean bag chair Phil had ever seen. He gazed at it longingly.

 

Clint followed his gaze. “Best seat in the house,” he joked, and led Phil by the hand towards the purple chair. Neither of them sat yet.

 

“So, you wanna be wearing that suit?” Clint asked. “’Cause I gotta say, I’m feeling a little underdressed here. Though I’m sure I could rustle up some more formal attire if you’d like.”

 

Phil smiled, then carefully toed off his shoes, reaching down next to remove his socks. His suit jacket and tie followed, and his belt, and soon he was wearing just his slacks and a shirt, which he unbuttoned at the top and untucked from his waistband.

 

“Better?” he asked, showing himself to Clint with a small smirk, and just barely resisting the temptation to do a spin.

 

“Guess that’s your call,” Clint replied. Phil had to admit Clint’s sweat pants and tank top looked a lot cozier than even his dressed-down attire.

 

Phil took a deep breath. “So, how do we do this?”

 

Clint took that as his cue to reach out once again for Phil’s hand and guide him down into the bean bag chair. The seat was luxurious, sinking down where he sat but providing a firm back support for him to lean into. He faced towards Clint, who offered his bottom arm as a pillow for Phil’s head. He took it greedily. It afforded just the right amount of elevation for his poor neck.

 

“So,” Clint spoke softly after they’d had time to get comfortable. “Hobbies? The weather? Work?”

 

That last question made Phil slightly sad, so he diverted. “You first.”

 

Leaning back, Clint sighed. “Ahhh, what is there to know about me? Well, you already know what I do for a living. Hobbies… I play the cello?”

 

That got Phil’s attention. “Really?” he asked, genuinely curious. “I go to the symphony regularly. The cello’s one of my favorite instruments.”

 

“Oh? I’ve gotta say, I don’t get a lot of clients who appreciate classical music. I’ll have to play for you sometime.” Phil’s heart did an embarrassing flip in his chest.

 

“I’d like that,” he answered.

 

“Your turn,” said Clint, “Hobbies?”

 

“Oh, well… other than the symphony? I used to read quite a lot… and… well… I suppose I haven’t had much time for hobbies recently.”

 

“Work busy?”

 

“You could say so. I work as a risk analyst for large corporations, so whenever Wall Street is busy, I am.” He felt bad lying to Clint, but he’d more or less perfected his public persona.

 

Clint moved his free hand up to lightly brush Phil’s cheek. “Is this okay?” Phil nodded. It surprisingly was.

 

“Phil, there’s something I should tell you. I know you work for S.H.I.E.L.D.”

 

Phil froze.

 

It didn’t make sense – if Clint was a civilian, how would he know? If he was Hydra, why would he tell Phil he knew, rather than waiting for Phil to truly let his guard down? Hell, why didn’t he kill Phil last time when he’d been a vulnerable, sobbing mess in the middle of his massage parlor?

 

“What are you…?” he managed to croak out.

 

“It’s okay,” Clint said, “I used to work for them too.” He quickly pulled a badge from his sweatpants pocket to make his point. “Clint Barton, codename Hawkeye. Was a sniper, mostly worked out of the DC office, but I certainly knew about Phil Coulson, Fury’s one good eye.”

 

 _Hawkeye,_ Phil thought. _That explains the name of the parlor_ … how had he not realized?

 

“You retired, after that mission in London,” he recalled.

 

Clint nodded. “Attack left me half-blinded. Laser surgery was able to fix most of it, but I still have glasses I wear on long days to avoid headaches. Certainly wasn’t gonna be the world’s best marksman anymore.” He shrugged. “It was time, anyway. Figured I’d settle down and do something lower key – still make use of my second best asset.” He wiggled his fingers in front of Phil faux-provocatively.

 

Phil laughed.

 

“Anyway,” continued Clint, “I still technically have Level 7 clearance. Fury’s always reminding me you ‘never really retire from S.H.I.E.L.D.’, and I could be called in for the next apocalypse any moment. He’s so far left me well enough alone, but… point is, you can tell me about work. At least… up to Level 7 clearance.”

 

Phil blinked. This was more than a dream come true. Clint was telling him he could come here anytime he wanted, let himself be held by this strong, attractive man, _and_ complain about work? Not to mention that he was fanboying slightly over the discovery that he was currently snuggling with history’s greatest marksman. And all this without the strings that made a relationship impossible for someone in his position. He just might be in heaven.

 

When Clint reached forward and tentatively put his palm to Phil’s waist, he knew he was.

 

He took his own arm, slowly so as not to give Clint the impression his touch was unwelcome, and moved Clint’s hand under his shirt to directly touch the skin of his waist. He held Clint’s gaze for a moment to be sure it was okay. He breathed through the anxiety of not wanting to fall apart like last time, but now that he knew Clint was S.H.I.E.L.D., he felt secure in the knowledge that if he did, Hawkeye would piece him back together rather than taking advantage.

 

When Clint gently rubbed his thumb up and down Phil’s torso, his skin fucking sang.

 

_This is what I’ve been missing all these years._

 

After that, they didn’t say much other than to make small talk. They stayed there like that for what felt like hours, but was still somehow not nearly long enough. As Clint continued to brush his thumb along Phil’s side, Phil slowly began to relax into the touch. He was almost starting to feel human again.

 

Too soon, though, the appointment came to a close. Part of Phil wanted to pay Clint for an extra hour, or for the night, but he knew realistically that they both had things to do. He still had a pile of paperwork to get through before tomorrow morning.

 

Following Clint out into the reception area and watching Clint walk behind the counter, out of reach, Phil felt surprisingly bereft. Nonetheless, he smiled politely as he paid, and agreed once again to heed Clint’s advice and buy himself a body pillow.

 

“Take care, Phil,” Clint called as he left. Phil waved goodbye, scanned for any suspicious characters on his way out the door, and did exactly that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long-ish chapter. Phil deals with some work-related trauma.

Phil hadn’t felt this tired in years.

 

He’d certainly been awake longer than this before – it had been what, 60 hours since he’d been woken up by the buzz of Fury’s text message ordering him to report to HQ ASAP to handle a field mission in Nova Scotia – but it seemed to be taking its toll much harder than he was accustomed to. Maybe he was getting old.

 

When he had got onto the Quinjet on his way back to base a few hours ago, he had almost collapsed in his seat. Instead, he’d had to get to work on his post-mission reports, not to mention dealing with all the e-mails marked Urgent that had shown up while he’d been leading his various crews out in the field.

 

Now he was sitting at his desk, just wrapping up the last of the paperwork that absolutely couldn’t wait, and glancing over at the business card sticking out of the top drawer of his desk.

 

He packed up his computer and then pulled out the business card, fingering it carefully as he tried to make up his mind. He was exhausted, and a part of him just wanted to go straight home and collapse into bed, but another part wondered if he’d even be able to sleep so soon after all the excitement – not to mention the coffee still flooding his system.

 

Although Phil’s planning had been flawless and his execution mostly impressive, Agent Jimenez had had a near miss with a bullet due to Phil’s slow reaction to the shadowy figure that had slipped into the building through a window behind them. The guilt was weighing on him and he could use someone who’d understand without prying.

 

He’d found he liked talking to Clint, even if Clint tended to do most of the talking.

 

It was just after six p.m. on a Wednesday – Clint would have most likely just opened for the night, and would probably be in an appointment. Phil would wait until the middle of the night for the appointment if he had to, but it would be good to at least know whether he had a chance at getting in at all.

 

He dialled the number on the business card before he could talk himself out of it.

 

He waited for one ring. Two. Three. Four. When Clint’s voice came on telling him he’d missed him and to please leave a message, Phil was already blinking his eyes rapidly to prevent what was really a complete overreaction to his massage therapist being busy.

 

Phil didn’t trust his voice not to crack at the moment, so rather than leave a message, he hung up the phone and held it to the centre of his forehead, taking deep breaths and reminding himself that he’d been doing this on his own for years.

 

He looked again at the business card, wondering about the second number. Clint had told him to use it – and he’d suggested it was a normal thing for his clients to do, it wasn’t just a courtesy he was extending to Phil because he’d come in looking so awful the first time around. Phil shook his head to rid himself of the thought. _You don’t call 911 over a raccoon in your trash can, and you don’t dial an emergency massage therapy line because you’re tired and sad and lonely._

Phil packed up the rest of his belongings, pulled on his overcoat – it had been raining pretty hard when they’d got back in the Quinjet, and he didn’t expect that it had let up while he’d been working – and left the office. Sure enough, when he got outside, he stepped into the pouring rain. He considered hailing a cab, but he was sure they’d be busy in this weather, and he felt the need to keep moving. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to get going again if he spent even a few minutes standing by the side of the road looking for a taxi.

 

Phil got home just before seven – admittedly earlier than he could remember being home in quite some time, although he wasn’t sure it counted when he hadn’t been home at all in two days. He didn’t even bother to pull off his boots, or to go to the kitchen to try to scrounge up something to eat – he just shrugged off his overcoat and collapsed into bed, briefcase still in hand.

 

He thought about Jimenez, now home with their family, and how close their kids had been to never seeing their parent again. He stared up at the ceiling and tried not to think about it.

 

Instead, he remembered the business card in his pocket. _Maybe… I mean… If he doesn’t pick up, I can always just hang up. It’s not like I have to leave a message._

 

That settled it for him. Well, either that or the distinct uninviting feeling of his bed, neatly made but sparsely covered and empty except for himself. He pulled his cell phone out of his breast pocket and the business card out of the one on his hip, and mouthed the digits of the second phone number as he dialled.

 

One ring. Two.

 

“Hello, Clint Barton speaking, Hawkeye Massage Therapy, how can I help you?”

 

Well. That was unexpected. Phil was normally one to plan for every contingency, in his professional as well as his personal life, and yet for some reason he hadn’t thought of what he would say if Clint actually answered. He cleared his throat so Clint would know there was someone on the line while he tried to formulate his next words.

 

“Yes, hello, this is Phil… Phil Coulson,” he began.

 

“Phil, it’s so good to hear from you! How are you, it’s been a couple weeks, hasn’t it? How are you feeling after last time?”

 

“Good, I’m good,” Phil started, and then realized that might sound odd given that he was currently calling a so-called emergency line. He drew on his best business-like persona and tried again. “I was just wondering if you might have time for an appointment tonight?”

 

“Yeah, for sure… what were you thinking?”

 

_Business persona._ “I was thinking we could try another cuddle therapy session, if you were amenable.”

 

“Ah, sure, I’m super amenable,” Clint seemed to be looking for something, perhaps his calendar. “I… have a couple of appointments coming up, but I could do 10:15 if that works for you?”

 

Phil sighed in relief. He just had to make it another three hours.

 

“That sounds lovely,” he said into the phone.

 

“Great, I’ll see you soon! Take care,” said Clint.

 

“You too,” responded Phil, and hung up the phone.

 

_Coffee_ , he thought. If he was going to stay awake until this appointment, he was going to need a lot more coffee.

 

He dragged himself out of bed to the sound of every joint in his body crackling, and made his way to the kitchen. He reached for the coffee tin on the counter, but found it empty. He opened several different cupboards looking for a new tin, but found them all equally bare.

 

_I guess I’m going back out in the rain_.

 

He pulled back on his overcoat and made his way to one of his favorite 24-hour coffee shops – an older hole-in-the-wall where the servers mostly ignored him and classical music played over the radio. He ordered a double espresso and a chocolate croissant and opened his computer – he could at least work on some of his less classified files, seeing as he was going to be up for the next few hours in any event.

 

He got lost in a report from a diversity and inclusion focus group discussing recommended improvements to hiring practices, and had just finished sending an e-mail to Director Fury inquiring as to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s current accommodations for field agents celebrating Ramadan, when he looked up and saw the time – 9:58. He’d better get going.

 

When he arrived at the massage parlor, he shook his head to try to dispel some of the water in his hair, and realized too late how bad an idea that was for his neck. No one was at the front counter, so he took a seat in the reception area and checked his e-mails while he waited.

 

A few minutes later, Clint came out of the massage room. He smiled at Phil and said, “Hey, I’ll be with you in just a minute,” before busying himself with something or other at the desk.

 

A young woman followed him out of the room.

 

“Hope you’re feeling better,” Clint called out as the woman came over to the desk to pay.

 

“Much, thank you,” she answered pleasantly.

 

“That’ll be 100 even.”

 

“Sure, I’ll put it on Visa.”

 

“There you go. Just sign right here please.”

 

“Awesome, thanks so much again. You’re a miracle worker.”

 

“Heh, any time. Have a great night!”

 

“You too!”

 

As the woman left, Clint turned to look at Phil.

 

“Why hello there, Agent Coulson,” Clint teased, but for some reason in this moment it made Phil’s blood run cold.

 

“Please don’t call me that,” he almost pleaded. Then he felt pathetic and added in what he hoped was a friendlier tone, “I spend enough time at work as it is.”

 

Clint changed his tone instantly. “Oh, sorry, Phil, of course. Trust me, I’ve been there – this place wasn’t always called ‘Hawkeye’s’, you know. Took a while to warm up to the idea after I left the field. Used to be called ‘Petals’ – don’t ask me why.”

 

Phil smiled, grateful to Clint for diffusing the awkwardness.

 

“So, how’re you feeling?” Clint asked, giving Phil a quick once-over.

 

“Exhausted,” Phil admitted. “Long day at work.” As he talked, he followed Clint through the door into the cuddle therapy room. Before Clint had even closed the door behind him, Phil was already pulling off his tie and throwing his briefcase down by the door. It felt oddly domestic, but he wasn’t delaying this appointment a second longer than necessary.

 

“Oh?” Clint questioned. “Did something happen?”

 

Phil didn’t know how to answer that, so he just shrugged. He pulled off his overcoat and suit jacket and hung them on the coat rack, then worked on removing his shoes. The rest of his clothing followed, aside from his boxers, which were the only thing he was wearing that hadn’t gotten wet from the rain. Clint followed suit by removing his tank top, but left his sweat pants on.

 

Phil looked around the room, wondering if he should experiment with the bed, or the floor, or the couch. In the end, his eyes landed back on the bean bag chair, and he moved towards it on confident feet.

 

Clint followed behind him. “Ready to get down to business, huh?” he chuckled. “Shall I grab us a blanket or something?”

 

“Sounds good,” Phil replied, although Clint was already moving past him towards a closet in the back of the room. Clint returned with the fluffiest, most ridiculous blanket Phil had ever seen, in alternating colors of pink, purple, and blue.

 

“What do you think?” Clint held it out to him. Phil reached out to feel the material.

 

“… Soft,” he remarked intelligently.

 

Clint grinned, then gestured for Phil to take a seat on the bean bag chair. When they were both settled with the blanket on top of them, Phil on his back and Clint facing towards him, Phil sighed.

 

“So, read any good books lately?” Clint asked, giving Phil an opportunity to pretend nothing was wrong.

 

Instead he blurted, “I almost got someone killed today.”

 

To his credit, Clint did little more than blink before rolling with the new line of conversation. “Okay,” he started, “Do you want to tell me how that happened?”

 

Phil wasn’t sure he wanted to do anything of the sort, but he’d started, so he supposed he might as well make the guilty confession to someone. He took a deep breath before continuing.

 

“I’ve been in Nova Scotia on a mission – infiltrating an enemy base – links to Hydra – gathering intel from their computers, you know the drill. Very high-security place, we needed a lot of force on location to make sure we could get in and out.”

 

Clint just nodded along and placed a hand over Phil’s, prompting him to keep talking.

 

“I was the primary handler for the whole crew, on comms and watching the live feed from the van. Agent Jimenez, they – they had incapacitated the guards in the warehouse and were keeping watch. It was our Plan B exit strategy. But another guard must have heard something, or been notified, because she came in through the window, behind them. She looked like a shadow, barely visible on the feed, but she was there. I didn’t notice until she was already raising her gun to shoot Jimenez. They barely had time to react when I yelled over the comms – missed the bullet by inches – a second later and they’d be dead and it would have been all my fault, I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t paying close enough attention – ”

 

Phil hadn’t realized he was in tears until his voice broke off.

 

“Hey,” Clint said quietly, “Can I ask you something?”

 

Phil nodded.

 

“How many screens did you have eyes on?”

 

That wasn’t where Phil had expected him to go, but he answered anyway. “Seven.”

 

Clint hummed. “And what number screen was Jimenez on?”

 

“Number two.”

 

“Right. So what was happening on screen number four? The instant before Jimenez was shot at, I mean.”

 

Now this was a tactic Phil was more than familiar with. Detailed debriefing – helped a soldier focus, distracted them from whatever was on their mind. Clint must have thought he was on the verge of a panic attack – he wasn’t, but he’d play along. He thought back to those moments, right before everything fell out of his control. He felt himself retreat into the memory, the screens positioned all around the van’s control board…

 

“Nat was taking on about six different agents,” he remembered with a smile.

 

“Of course she was,” Clint answered. “What about screen number seven?”

 

Phil thought back again. The moment just before the gun shot… “Agents Todd and Montenegro were installing the decrypting software on the mainframe computer. They were out in no time after that – if only I’d been more on top of things in the warehouse, we were almost free and clear – ”

 

Clint didn’t let him finish the thought. “Screen number one?”

 

“Agent Freeman was operating undercover, distracting one of the Hydra weapons engineers who was supposed to be working in the computer lab at the time. She’d gone in as a junior assassin, said she’d had some problems with the sights on her pistol. Asked him to check it out.”

 

“And what were you doing?”

 

What was he doing? Not paying enough attention to screen number two, obviously. _No Phil, focus._

 

“I was directing the Quinjet. Some dumbass junior agent had decided it would be a good idea to follow in the great Hawkeye’s footsteps and jump off a building without a grappling hook or parachute, or anything to break his fall. Had to get the Quinjet around the block to catch him.”

 

Clint smirked. “And did it catch him before the figure shot at Jimenez?”

 

“Yeah, just before. About a second before, I guess.”

 

“And you were directing it right up until that moment?”

 

“Yeah, that’s why I was distracted, I didn’t look over at Jimenez until it was too late – ”

 

“And what would have happened if the Quinjet hadn’t caught him?”

 

“I… well, he would have fallen.”

 

“And what would have happened to him then?”

 

“… He would have died.” This line of interrogation was no longer feeling particularly distracting – in fact, Phil felt like Clint was just pointing out even more of the flaws in his plan.

 

“So you couldn’t possibly have looked over at screen two a second earlier, could you? Or else this other agent would have died.”

 

_Oh._ Of course that’s where he was going with this.

 

“Well, no, but I should have been faster, _Jimenez_ could have died – ”

 

“You couldn’t have been any faster, Phil. I know from way too much experience jumping off buildings that the Quinjet can only navigate streets so fast, and you got it there in time to break his fall. Jimenez is fine. Everyone is alive, and well, and it’s because of you.”

 

Well that was a very nice thought, but bullshit. “But if the Hydra agent had raised her gun even half a second faster…”

 

“But she didn’t,” Clint cut him off. “She didn’t, and everyone is fine, and you did the best you could possibly have done in the situation. Your job as handler is to direct your agents, and to do everything in your power to bring them home alive, Phil. The fact of the matter is, we’re all human, and we’re going up against other humans – other highly trained, incredibly skilled spies. We can always work hard to be better than them, to be faster, and stronger, and smarter. But we can only be so much better, and so much smarter, and sometimes things go wrong. Sometimes they win. Trust me, I’ve seen enough of my fellow agents die in the field to know that.”

 

Phil tried to make sense of what Clint was saying. Sure, he knew logically that sometimes agents died on the field, but that meant someone had screwed up – so shouldn’t the person who screwed up be held accountable?

 

“Look at me,” Clint said, pulling back from Phil and pulling the blanket down so that Phil could see his bare chest. “Look at these scars. These are from some of the times something went wrong. Granted, some of them are from the circus, and… before that, but a lot of them are from the field, and my point is, shit happens. I had amazing handlers out there on all of these missions. Wouldn’t’ve worked with them otherwise – I’m very picky. I got hurt, but not because anyone fucked up, just because sometimes, the other side wins.

 

“To me, Phil, this mission you just got back from sounds like an incredible success. Everyone came home safe, you got the intel you needed, and you covered everyone’s tracks. You knew what was happening on seven screens at once – that’s fucking incredible!

 

“Look, I’m not saying you have to be proud of yourself, or that you have to let yourself off the hook, because I know from experience guilt doesn’t work that way. But for what it’s worth, if _I_ were on that mission, I’d have been fucking grateful you were my handler. And I can guarantee you Jimenez is at home with their family right now feeling pretty damn grateful themself.”

 

Clint gave a sharp nod of his head to signal that his monologue was over.

 

Phil reeled. That was… _wow._ Phil knew intellectually that the things Clint was saying were true, but he hadn’t taken the time to think them through that way. He supposed he’d been a handler so long that he’d forgotten what it felt like to be in the field, to be relying on someone the way his agents relied on him. Maybe he hadn’t totally fucked that trust relationship over. Maybe.

 

Phil reached up to wipe the tears from his eyes.

 

“… Thank you,” he croaked. “I think I really needed to hear that.”

 

Clint’s eyes sparkled, making Phil wonder if he was on the verge of tears himself. “I just tell it like it is,” Clint whispered. “Now get over here and let me spoon you.”

 

Phil laughed out loud. Now that, he could oblige, even if he suspected Clint might be suggesting it just to make Phil look away so he could get emotional without compromising his professionalism. He rolled over onto his left side and relaxed into Clint’s sturdy grip. That conversation had left him feeling unexpectedly lighter, but had also left him completely and totally drained. His eyes started to drift shut almost immediately.

 

“Hey, Phil?” Clint asked. “Do you like TV?”

 

“Mmhmm…” Phil just managed to answer.

 

“Good,” came Clint’s response, “Because I’ve been watching this show that I think you’d really like. It’s called – ”

 

 Phil didn’t get to find out anything more about the TV show Clint was recommending, because he’d already fallen asleep.

 

\---

 

“Hey,” Phil heard someone whisper as he was gently shaken awake by a warm presence behind him. “Hey, Phil.”

 

Phil spent a moment trying to recall where he was. _Am I in medical…?_ He wondered. He certainly couldn’t recall a time he’d woken up feeling this safe without being heavily medicated.

 

Phil blinked his eyes open and saw Clint Barton’s magnificent face leaning over him. He briefly considered leaning up to kiss his lips, but promptly stopped that train of thought as he remembered where he was. His feeling of security was quickly replaced by one of embarrassment.

 

“Shit, did I fall asleep? I’m so sorry.”

 

Clint smiled. “No worries,” he replied. “I didn’t want to wake you, but I have another appointment coming up.”

 

That got Phil moving. “Fuck, I’m sorry, how long was I out?” he asked, already sitting up and looking around for his clothes, which he found just off to the side of the bean bag chair.

 

“Almost two hours.”

 

“Two hours? You should have woken me! I’m sure you have much better things to do than lie here with some sleeping old man.”

 

“Not really,” Clint shrugged.

 

“God, I feel like such a creep,” Phil complained anyway.

 

Clint didn’t let him hang onto that thought for long. “Oh, hey,” he said, getting up from the chair and leaving Phil feeling surprisingly deprived. “I got something for you.”

 

Phil watched in mild confusion as Clint walked to the back of the room and opened the supply closet. His eyebrows raised of their own accord when he saw what Clint was pulling out – a large, purple, overly fuzzy body pillow.

 

“Now I know what you’re thinking,” Clint said, and Phil sincerely doubted it. “Why would I get a body pillow for my client?” That was most certainly _not_ what Phil had been thinking – he had a lot of other questions before that. “But I’ve sort of given up on the idea of you getting one for yourself, okay? I really think you should have it. And use it. Like, curl up around it at night or whatever. Deal?”

 

Phil still couldn’t get over the fact that Clint had gone to so much trouble (and, hell, expense too) to get something so ridiculous for him. Or to get anything for him at all, really. He tried to remember the last time he’d been given anything that wasn’t accompanied by, “I need this completed by Monday, Coulson.”

 

“Deal,” he answered, and he really meant it, too. If Clint was going to do something this kind for someone he barely knew – someone he couldn’t even have been sure was coming back – then Phil could follow his simple instructions.

 

Clint looked relieved, and Phil assumed his spy training had given him plenty of tools to be able to tell when someone was lying.

 

“Good,” Clint said, “Meet you out in reception whenever you’re ready?”

 

Phil nodded. As Clint left, he again felt overwhelmingly deprived, like he’d missed out on something important. He supposed sleeping through an appointment he’d needed badly enough to call Clint’s emergency number hadn’t been the best idea. He thought about going back to his empty apartment to try to sleep a few more hours and sighed.

 

Phil gathered the rest of his belongings and carried the body pillow out to the reception area. He wondered how he was going to get it home in the rain without soaking it through.

 

Apparently, Clint had an answer for this, too. He produced a large piece of plastic covering and wrapped it carefully around the body pillow, meanwhile giving Phil more detailed instructions for use, as though he might not understand the concept.

 

Phil paid and waved his goodbye to Clint, whom he’d come to accept he’d be seeing more of. As he pulled up the collar of his jacket to prepare to venture out into the rain, he heard Clint call, “Take care, Phil!”

 

He smiled over his shoulder before stepping carefully over a large puddle that had formed just outside the massage parlor’s door, and made his way home to get a few more hours of sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Brief mentions of BDSM. Not a come on, and nothing that's going to happen in this fic, but FYI.
> 
> Also possible Crazy Ex-Girlfriend spoilers.

Less than a week later, Phil was finishing drafting the new firearms training protocol, and idly thought how great it would be if his recruits could get lessons from history’s greatest marksman. He would certainly never ask Clint to come back to S.H.I.E.L.D. for something as pedestrian as firearms training, but he allowed himself to briefly imagine seeing Clint’s lopsided smile in the halls at work.

 

That led Phil to the realisation that, if he could get this protocol done and a quick workout in, he might actually be able to leave S.H.I.E.L.D. at a reasonable hour today. There hadn’t been any major international crises or high-priority missions all week – Phil rapped his knuckles on his wooden desk twice out of an abundance of caution.

 

Maybe he could actually see Clint just because he wanted to for once, and not because he was physically incapable of handling anything else.

 

Phil quickly pulled out Clint’s business card and, remembering how uncomfortable he had been on the phone last time, pulled up his website to book an appointment online. Phil wondered briefly at Clint’s strange hours – on weekdays, he didn’t start until the early evening, and had appointments available well past midnight. Weekends he worked slightly more typical work hours, starting in the early afternoon. He supposed Clint must have developed his business around professionals like Phil, who weren’t typically available during the day. It must make his sleep schedule hell, though.

 

Phil found that the only available appointment time for tonight was at 8:00, so he booked it quickly before it could disappear. He then thought through the things he had to accomplish – he could grab a bite to eat now, come back and finish the protocol, and still have time to squeeze in his workout and a shower before leaving the office. Perfect.

 

\---

 

As Phil walked from the shower rooms back to his office to pack up his things, he saw Fury standing just outside his door. His stomach sank – was Fury about to give him a new assignment? He’d been so close…

 

“Coulson,” came Fury’s gruff voice. “I was just coming by to see if you were still here. May, Hill, Sitwell and I were going to get some drinks. Care to join?”

 

Phil felt guilty even as his shoulders sagged in relief. Not an assignment.

 

“Thanks, Sir, but I actually have plans for the evening.”

 

That caused Fury’s eyebrows to raise. “Plans? Phil Coulson has plans on a Friday night? And here I was thinking you’d moved into your office permanently.”

 

Phil rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I’ll have you know, Sir, that I took your advice. I’ve been going to massage therapy.” He didn’t bother to mention that his only experience with actual massage therapy thus far had been a complete disaster.

 

“The day you take my advice is the day I don’t need this eyepatch. Come on, Cheese, what is it really? You have a date? Lord knows you need to get laid worse than I do.”

 

“What, Jasper not treating you well?”

 

Fury sighed. “ _Jasper_ has been away for two weeks on a mission. First I get to see him again is tonight, and now he wants to go out for drinks. I’ve told him he gets one beer, and then he’s switching to non-alcoholic so he can take _full_ advantage of me when we get home.”

 

That brought a chuckle out of Phil. “Well, may the odds be ever in your favor. Anyway, I meant it – I’m really going to massage therapy tonight.”

 

Fury raised his eyebrows and clapped him on the back. “Well good for you, Coulson, I’m glad. You are looking healthier than you have been.” He nodded towards Phil, who was admittedly feeling more upbeat and less beat-down than he had in months, and turned back down the hall.

 

“Thanks Nick. Have fun at drinks tonight!” He called to Fury’s already retreating form. Fury turned just enough to flip Phil the bird, and then carried on his way.

 

Phil smiled to himself and turned into his office to pack up his things.

 

\---

 

When Phil strode into Clint’s reception area just a minute before 8:00, he didn’t expect to come face to face with an adorably bespectacled Clint. He tried to keep himself from gaping.

 

“Hey,” Clint said, looking up from his computer. “You look nice.”

 

Phil drew his eyes away from the glasses perched neatly on Clint’s face and looked at his own form.

 

“Oh,” he laughed, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, “I just got in a workout at the end of the day, figured it’d be easier to get into sweats after my shower than back into my suit.”

 

Clint grinned. “Well, it suits you. Looks cozy.”

 

Phil blushed, but repaid the compliment. “You don’t look so bad yourself – I like the glasses look.”

 

He watched as Clint brought his hand up to adjust the glasses on his nose. “Yeah, I had a headache earlier, figured they were a good idea… Anyway, your appointment says you’re looking for a massage tonight – that right?”

 

“That’s right. Hopefully it won’t be quite as humiliating as last time.”

 

“I suspect it’ll be just fine,” Clint replied amicably. “Anything in particular you want me to focus on?”

 

Phil thought about it for a second, then nodded. “Neck and shoulders again, if that’s okay. I don’t think I can remember the last time they didn’t hurt.” Strangely, though, despite not having managed to actually get a single successful massage so far, the pain hadn’t been quite so unbearable since he’d started coming to Hawkeye’s. That wasn’t to say he wouldn’t fully appreciate the massage, but the difference between how Phil felt today and how he’d felt the first time he’d been here was astounding.

 

“Ha, yeah, I feel that. Wasn’t ever really one for a desk, but holding a bow steady in one position for days in a row can really make you wonder if you’re ever gonna move again. Right this way,” Clint gestured towards the door to the massage room.

 

Phil followed him in, and listened as Clint gave the run-down of what he could expect. When Clint left the room to get his oils organized, Phil stripped down to his boxers and got on the table.

 

Clint returned, and Phil could hear him fiddling around with his massage oil in the corner of the room.

 

“All right, Phil,” Clint started softly, “Do you need anything before we get started?”

 

Phil shook his head.

 

“Heating pad on at an okay temperature?”

 

Phil nodded.

 

“Okay, just like last time, let me know if there’s anything you need as we get going, all right? And if there’s anything you aren’t 100% comfortable with, just let me know and I’ll stop, yeah?”

 

“Okay,” Phil answered.

 

“Great, I’m just going to pull this cover down a bit and we’ll get started.”

 

Phil nodded.

 

He felt Clint pull the top cover down, freezing momentarily halfway through bringing it to lie over Phil’s hips. Clint lay the cover down and then cleared his throat.

 

“Quite the bruise you’ve got there,” Clint remarked, brushing his fingers gently along Phil’s mid-back. “Looks like a kidney shot.”

 

Phil thought back to the day before. “Oh, yeah, some junior agent didn’t understand basic sparring protocol. He’s since learned.”

 

Clint started to gently rub at Phil’s shoulders, and Phil melted underneath his hands. This was already _so_ much better than last time.

 

“What, the great Phil Coulson taken down by a junior agent? How’d you let that happen?”

 

Phil rolled his eyes even though he knew Clint couldn’t see it. “I may have been simultaneously fighting Agent May.”

 

Clint burst out laughing at that. “Fair enough, I can see how that might get you off-guard. But seriously, though, what’d medical have to say?”

 

“You’re really suggesting I went to see medical for a bruise?”

 

He felt Clint’s hands tense on his shoulders, and his tone had shifted when he next spoke. “Kidney shot, Phil,” he drew out each syllable, reminding Phil of times when he himself had become overly protective of one of his agents.

 

Phil groaned. “What do you think medical would have done if I had gone? Told me to ice it and given me some painkillers?”

 

“And monitored you for signs of bigger problems,” Clint answered sternly.

 

“Which I can do perfectly well on my own.”

 

“And have you?”

 

“What, monitored it for signs of bigger problems? Sure, it seems fine,” said Phil.

 

“What about looked after it? Have you iced it?” Clint asked.

 

Phil didn’t have a good answer to that, so he stayed quiet.

 

Clint sighed. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and promptly removed his hands from Phil’s back – Phil missed the touch almost immediately.

 

Clint left the room and Phil itched in impatience. When he returned, Phil heard him shuffling behind him, followed by a popping sound.

 

“All right, Phil, I’m going to put this ice pack on you now, is that okay?” Clint asked, as Phil heard more shuffling that clearly indicated Clint wrapping the ice pack in some kind of cloth.

 

“Yes, mom,” he whined. As he felt the cool ice pack start to settle onto his skin, though, he felt an incredible relief, and realized just how sore the bruise still was. He sighed as he sank deeper into the massage table.

 

“There you go,” Clint murmured. He then returned his hands to Phil’s upper back, and Phil melted once again.

 

As Clint worked his way through the knots up and down Phil’s left shoulder blade – which, _yeah, okay, that was more than acceptable_ – he quipped, “Jeez Phil, kidneys are like the number one pay-attention zone. I really hope you aren’t involved in any BDSM or anything, because you clearly have no clue how to take care of yourself. I bet you don’t even know what a safeword is.”

 

Phil smirked. “Oh, you’d be surprised the things I know,” he shot back. Then he amended his answer. “Pain isn’t really my thing though – I get enough of that at work, you know?”

 

To Clint’s credit, he didn’t seem shocked by the semi-admission. “Yeah, I hear that. Although to be fair, I got degraded plenty at the circus, and yet…”

 

 _Crap,_ Phil gulped. That just wasn’t fair. Now he was picturing entirely unsavory things, and he was currently lying on a massage table with Clint’s thumbs pressing into the back of his neck. He shifted slightly as he felt himself start to get a little too interested in the imagery.

 

Clint cleared his throat. “Sorry, bad joke. Point being – kidneys bad, go to medical. Anyway, how’s work? You seem less tired than usual.”

 

Phil was torn between relief and amusement at the abrupt change of subject. He told Clint about the relatively good week he’d had, and how he’d managed to be home every night so far. Clint asked if he’d been using the body pillow, and Phil had to admit that he had. Clint’s tone of voice sounded slightly too smug when he suggested it might be having positive effects on the alignment of his spine.

 

“All right, Phil, I’m going to get you to flip over onto your back, okay?” Clint said eventually, and Phil followed his instructions so that he was lying face up on the massage table with his knees slightly elevated by a cushion. Phil lay back and closed his eyes.

 

When Clint began to run his hands through Phil’s (admittedly thinning) hair, Phil was forced to cover up a moan by restarting the conversation. “Mm-hey, so, last time I was here, I think you were starting to mention a show I might like?” he prompted.

 

“Oh, yeah,” Clint smiled. “I’ve been watching this new show, _Crazy Ex-Girlfriend_. The title threw me off a bit, but my ex-wife recommended it so I figured it was safe. It’s about this really successful New York lawyer who’s completely immersed in her career but isn’t happy, so when she sees her ex-boyfriend from summer camp, she ends up following him to California and completely changing her life. There’s singing and ridiculous antics, and her best friend cares more about hooking her up with her ex than she does, and the head lawyer at her new firm is this 50-something-year-old openly bisexual dude with a kid, and it’s just really great.”

 

Well, that was a lot to take in. “You’ll have to introduce me to it sometime,” Phil answered, then immediately wondered if that was creepy.

 

“For sure, we can watch it on the beanbag chair next time you come in!” Clint chirped. Phil relaxed – good, that was safe. He hadn’t inadvertently become the creepy client, suggesting they see each other outside the massage parlor.

 

Clint continued to tell Phil all about this new show, until he felt he’d already seen it, and was convinced he’d had every plot twist for the first two seasons spoiled. He had trouble being irritated by it, though, given Clint’s obvious enthusiasm, not to mention the fact that he was currently working out yet another knot at the base of Phil’s skull.

 

Eventually, though, all good things must come to an end, and that included Phil’s appointment. In the reception area, he thanked Clint for the massage, and assured him he would absolutely be prepared to watch at least the first episode of _Crazy Ex-Girlfriend_ at his next cuddle therapy session. He thought to himself that he’d have to book his next appointment as soon as he got home – now that he knew how much good it was doing him physically, of course. He certainly wouldn’t admit to being hooked by the tales of Rebecca Bunch’s forays into love and personal satisfaction.

 

As Phil left, still thinking about this bizarre-sounding TV show and wondering whether he should watch a couple of episodes on his own so he knew what he was getting himself into, Clint called from the desk, “Take care, Phil!” Phil smiled to himself at the greeting that was now becoming familiar, looked both ways for cars before jogging across the street for a cup of coffee, and then made his way home with an unfamiliar bounce in his step.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Brief mentions of abusive childhood. Possible Crazy Ex-Girlfriend spoilers.

Several months and numerous sessions later – Phil had been coming more regularly, and could now usually be found at Clint’s at least once a week for cuddle therapy and again for massage – Phil walked into Hawkeye’s, shaking the snow out of his hair. He wasn’t accustomed to snow in November, but had always been rather fond of winter, so he couldn’t complain. That said, his joints weren’t the biggest fans of the cold season, and Phil was very much looking forward to curling up with Clint on that giant bean bag chair and soaking up his warmth while watching a couple episodes of _Crazy Ex-Girlfriend._

 

“Cold out there, huh?” he heard Clint saying from behind the counter and looked up to find him grinning. Phil’s breath caught in his throat – Clint was wearing a ridiculously soft-looking ugly Christmas sweater, except that instead of the typical reds and greens, the designs were a medley of purple and shades of black, grey, and white. The color scheme looked familiar, but Phil couldn’t quite place it, other than to notice that it looked especially nice on Clint.

 

Over the months, Phil had become more and more fond of Clint, and now struggled not to swoon on the days he caught him wearing something particularly cuddly-looking. This ugly Christmas sweater might just be his undoing.

 

Phil also noticed that Clint was wearing his glasses – damn, that must mean he had a headache. As much as Phil still secretly loved the look of the glasses perched carefully on Clint’s nose, he hated to see them, knowing it meant Clint was having a hard day. Luckily, the glasses didn’t seem to be a particularly common occurrence, but he was sure they must be hard to wear for someone who had spent so many years defining himself by his almost superhuman eyesight.

 

“You’re grinning – why?” Phil asked curiously.

 

Clint snorted. “What, I can’t just be happy to see you?”

 

Phil just gave him a skeptical look.

 

Clint smirked for a moment, then acquiesced. “Fine, you have snow in your hair – it’s cute, all right? Anyway, I’m excited – Christmas came early this year, it’s cuddling weather in November.”

 

Phil spared a moment to wonder just how many of Clint’s clients came in for cuddle therapy rather than massage therapy during the cold months, and how nice that must be for Clint, who seemed to love the activity more than anything else in the world. He was surprised to find that despite his small crush he wasn’t jealous at all – as long as he could keep coming by himself, he actually liked the idea of Clint getting his regular fill of snuggling.

 

He raised his hand to try to brush some of the snow off his head. “Christmas came early, did it? Is that why you’re already in your festive-wear in November, then?”

 

“Nah, this is normal November garb. Hallowe’en’s over, ‘tis the season!”

 

Phil supposed he could hardly argue with that, so he just laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “You’ll have to tell me where you got that, then,” he offered.

 

“Hah, sure,” Clint replied, raising his right hand to scratch at the back of his neck – which just drew Phil’s attention to his bicep. “Shall we?” Clint gestured towards the door to the cuddle therapy room.

 

Phil followed him and made his way directly to the bean bag chair. Somehow, no matter how many times he came back to Hawkeye’s, he had never made use of any of the other seating options in the room. He shrugged off his overcoat, then continued to strip down to just his suit pants and socks. He covered a gleeful smile when he saw that Clint was leaving on the ugly Christmas sweater, as well as his sweatpants. As Phil had grown more accustomed to skin-to-skin contact, he had stopped being quite as desperate for it, and now often found himself craving the quiet intimacy of clothed cuddling. Not to mention that, unlike him, Clint always had ridiculously soft clothes.

 

Phil got comfortable on the bean bag chair as Clint went to the closet for the oversized blanket that Phil had realized a while back was the colors of the bisexual pride flag. He wondered (with hope) whether it might be intentional. Either way, the thick blanket was the perfect choice for such a chilly evening. The only thing that could make the set-up better would be a crackling fire.

 

When Clint returned with the blanket, Phil was curled up on his right side, facing the middle of the chair. Clint lay down facing him, but Phil gently prompted him to roll over so they were both looking at the TV, with Phil spooning him. He reached for the remote, turned on the new episode – which apparently was going to include the introduction of a new boss at Whitefeather & Associates – then reached up to run his hands through Clint’s hair.

 

“Mmmm… what’re you doing?” Clint moaned.

 

“You have a headache,” Phil whispered.

 

Clint frowned and shifted onto his back so he could look Phil in the eyes. “How do you know that?” he asked.

 

Phil smiled. “You’re wearing your glasses,” he answered.

 

Clint looked at him for a moment as though he was thinking hard about something, then turned back towards the TV. “You don’t have to do that, you know. I’m the one getting paid here,” Clint reminded him.

 

Phil pondered that for all of a millisecond. “Does it feel good?” he asked.

 

“Well yeah,” Clint laughed.

 

“Then, we’re cuddling, aren’t we? Is there something wrong with me being the one playing with your hair?”

 

“No, no, nothing wrong,” Clint hastened to assure him. “No, you can definitely keep doing that… I just wanted to make sure…”

 

Phil chuckled. “I definitely don’t mind,” he promised. He scratched his fingers just behind Clint’s left ear, and smiled in satisfaction as he heard Clint actually _purr_.

 

On screen, the recaps had finished and Paula was telling Rebecca how much she’d enjoyed having a wife over the past several days.

 

“The writers really do ship them, don’t they?” Phil commented.

 

“You know the word ‘ship’?” Clint sounded perplexed.

 

Smugly, Phil said, “I can keep up with slang. What, you think all I’m good for is paperwork and a pretty face?”

 

Clint just shook his head and muttered to himself. “He knows what ‘shipping’ is… what the fuck?”

 

“Hey, you’re the one who introduced me to this show. You were so sure I’d like it – you can’t have really thought I was just some middle-aged white guy with middle-aged white guy taste?”

 

“Oh believe me,” Clint said, “I never thought you were just some middle-aged white guy.”

 

“Well good, that’s settled then,” Phil smiled, rubbing his thumbs against Clint’s temples.

 

“Hmmm….” Clint moaned. “Anyway, I think the writers really just ship Rebecca with some time off to take care of herself, but… there’s definitely some hinting there, I’ll accept that. Now shhh, let’s watch her make bad life choices again.”

 

Phil obliged, and tangled his legs up with Clint’s, hooking his chin over Clint’s head. He failed to focus back on the screen, though, and instead concentrated on the feeling of his fingers in Clint’s thick hair.

 

Phil let his mind wander, and thought about what it would be like to do this with Clint for real – to cuddle up in bed because they both wanted to, and not because Phil was paying for some semblance of intimacy. Not that he minded or felt embarrassed by their current set-up, but he couldn’t help but fantasize about the idea of having a relationship with Clint. He could collapse into bed at the end of a long day of work, play with Clint’s hair for a while, and then they could both let themselves drift off to sleep for the night. Thinking about it further, he wondered how it would really work – if Clint’s job kept him out as late as two a.m. some nights, and Phil often had to be at S.H.I.E.L.D. by seven or earlier… would they ever even see each other? Phil shook himself to get rid of the thought – he and Clint weren’t in a relationship, and what’s more, asking him out would be entirely inappropriate and would only serve to make Clint uncomfortable. There was absolutely no point in getting carried away with logistics, however calming Phil might find logistics on an ordinary basis.

 

When the next episode auto-played and Phil was still massaging Clint’s scalp, he heard Clint mutter, “Jeez, Phil, you’re gonna make me fall asleep here…”

 

He did sound pretty exhausted, and Phil was surprised to realize that the two of them had barely spoken throughout the entire first episode. Usually, they would compare theories and opinions to the point that just about nobody who didn’t have their substantial S.H.I.E.L.D. training in multitasking would be able to follow what was happening on the screen.

 

“You tired?” Phil asked quietly.

 

Clint took a moment to answer. “Yeah, couldn’t sleep last night. Nightmares,” he admitted.

 

“About S.H.I.E.L.D?” Phil inquired, hoping he wasn’t being too intrusive. It was pretty typical for anyone working in the field to have regular nightmares, so they weren’t generally considered a taboo topic, but Clint had been away from S.H.I.E.L.D. for quite a while now.

 

Clint nodded. “Yeah, and stuff from before that… I didn’t exactly have the greatest childhood, I guess…” Even if Phil hadn’t read Clint’s file a few weeks ago when Hill had needed intel on a mission in Hanoi from a couple years back, the revelation still wouldn’t have surprised him. Very few S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had had what one might call a typical upbringing. So Phil just hummed in acknowledgement and continued to card his fingers through Clint’s hair.

 

“Anyway,” Clint continued, “I don’t get ‘em often anymore, but every once in a while they can still keep me up. ‘S nothing like how I’ve seen you come in here, looking like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

 

Phil supposed he deserved that. Still… “You can let yourself doze if you want,” he offered. “You’ve already seen this episode anyway.”

 

He could practically feel Clint roll his eyes. “I’m not gonna fall asleep on you, you dope,” he said. “You really think I’d sleep on the job?”

 

“I really wouldn’t mind,” Phil repeated. He had to admit, the idea of lying here holding a sleeping Clint had its own kind of appeal.

 

“I’m good, seriously,” Clint assured him. “Thanks though.”

 

With that, their attention turned back to the screen, where Heather was describing her version of the scientific method. This time, Phil realized that they were watching more or less in silence, but kept it up in hopes that Clint would at least be able to rest for a while. He was fairly sure Clint would have at least a couple more appointments after this, and he wanted to make sure he wasn’t killing himself to get through them.

 

When their appointment ended along with the second episode, Phil and Clint stretched and smiled at each other before forcing themselves up and out of the bean bag chair. Phil got dressed while Clint put away the blanket and the remote, then they both went out to the reception area, which showed no sign of Clint’s next appointment.

 

After Phil had paid and done his overcoat back up, he thanked Clint and moved towards the door.

 

“Take care!” Clint called out, sounding significantly less tired than he had just half an hour earlier. Something about the way he said it caught Phil’s ear, and he couldn’t help but ask.

 

“Why do you always say that?”

 

“Say what?” Clint asked.

 

“‘Take care,’” Phil clarified. “Every time I leave, you always say that, but you don’t seem to say it to all your other clients.”

 

Clint smiled. “Oh, so you have been listening,” he said cryptically. “Then how come you never do it?”

 

Phil asked what he meant – of course he took care, he hadn’t become Fury’s one good eye by being careless. Clint just rolled his eyes.

 

“Phil,” he said slowly, deliberately, “You know that’s not what I mean, right?”

 

No, Phil did not know that. Clearly. He shrugged to convey the sentiment.

 

“Phil, when I say ‘take care,’ I’m not telling you to be careful,” Clint continued. “I’m asking you to take care of yourself.”

 

_Oh._

 

“Oh,” he said intelligently.

 

Phil realized that, actually, he had been doing a much better job of taking care of himself recently – more or less since he’d started seeing Clint. He told Clint as much.

 

Clint smiled and said, “I know. You’ve still got a ways to go, though.”

 

Phil supposed that was true. Just then, Clint’s next appointment walked in, and Phil straightened.

 

“Take care, Clint,” he called out and he left the small building. Outside, he thought for a moment, then pulled out his phone to call May and see if she had time for a sparring match and dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, I'm going to sleep. Promise to post the rest soon!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I start to mess with the established formula a little...

Phil watched from the helicopter as Hawkeye leapt from one rooftop to another, going over on his ankle for a second before regaining his footing and continuing to run, now favoring his left foot just slightly. He yelled orders at the pilot over his comm to ensure they were in position in case anything went wrong – but they had to stay out of sight if they didn’t want to be compromised.

 

The bad guy they’d been tracking had an unusual power – he was able to telekinetically control anything made of metal. That put Phil and the pilot, flying through the air in a glorified tin can, in a rather precarious position.

 

Of course, it was also the reason Clint had been called in. Phil had tried to argue against it, but had quickly realized Hawkeye was S.H.I.E.L.D.’s best option. Where guns, tanks, swords, Iron Man suits, and even (possibly – no one wanted to find out for sure) Thor’s hammer were useless, Tony had had no trouble throwing together some metal-free arrows for Clint to shoot. And while a number of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had archery training, if they wanted someone to get the shot off as quickly as possible and with as little damage as possible to the city, Hawkeye was the obvious choice.

 

Phil felt especially guilty about calling Clint in given that today was Christmas. On the one hand, he recognized that Clint didn’t have much in the way of family (found or otherwise) of his own and that meant he wasn’t missing out on any important Christmas traditions. On the other hand, he was sure Clint had managed to make plans with friends for the evening. He knew Clint loved Christmas, and wished he’d been able to call someone in who didn’t celebrate the occasion, as was his goal with any religious holiday.

 

He could see Clint making his way across the patio roof of a nearby tower, though he was doing a good job of keeping hidden behind some of the larger potted plants. Metal-guy had temporarily distracted himself by smashing cars together in a nearby parking lot, but suddenly seemed to recall that he was being targeted and took off into the air for a better vantage point. Phil and Clint both clearly saw the moment Metal-guy’s eyes landed on Clint, and he started winding up to launch an empty bus in his direction.

 

Clint’s eyes widened for a split second, and then he was on the move, running towards the edge of the building. Quickly, Phil yelled at the pilot and navigated to meet him. He had heard enough tales about the legendary Hawkeye to realize what was Clint was about to do.

 

As Clint leapt from the roof of the building, Phil could see that he had, indeed, managed to find just the right angle to get his shot off. Phil didn’t watch where the arrow went, though, intent instead on getting his timing just right. He had to be perfect here, or…

 

Phil reached out and grabbed Clint’s hand just as the helicopter passed over him and Clint began to fall. He winced in sympathy as he felt Clint’s shoulder pop from the stress of the sudden catch, but Clint hung onto him firmly, swinging his bow onto his back and using his other arm to climb up Phil and into the cabin of the helicopter. He collapsed on the helicopter floor, panting.

 

“You got the shot, Hawkeye,” came the call from the pilot. “Good work.”

 

“Thanks, Neptune,” Clint called back, and Phil was only mildly surprised that Clint knew the pilot’s codename.

 

Clint lay on his back and turned to look at Phil. “Well, guess I still got it,” he grinned and Phil punched him playfully, first making sure that it wasn’t Clint’s injured arm that was closest to him.

 

After taking a few more seconds to catch his breath, Clint heaved himself up to a kneeling position and turned towards Phil. “Hey, Coulson, you ever set a shoulder before?” he asked.

 

Phil groaned. He had – of course he had, he had been a field agent for years, after all, and there were times when extraction just wasn’t imminent. He wasn’t, however, a medic, and didn’t look forward to this particular aspect of the job.

 

“Let’s get you back to medical,” he offered instead.

 

Clint, unsurprisingly, refused. Phil was aware of Hawkeye’s notorious aversion to medical, but he had hoped not to have to deal with it today.

 

“Fine,” he sighed, and pushed himself up onto his knees for better leverage. “This will hurt,” he warned as he grasped Clint’s wrist with one hand and his elbow with the other.

 

Clint just rolled his eyes. “Yes, Coulson, this isn’t the first time I’ve dislocated a shoulder, thanks.”

 

Phil nodded, then carefully externally rotated Clint’s arm, feeling guilty as Clint hissed in pain. He continued through the pain, though, and completed Kocher’s method of setting a shoulder.

 

When he was done, Clint rolled his shoulder backwards a few times and stretched his neck. “Thanks,” he said, “You’re good at that.”

 

Phil was already moving to the other side of the helicopter where the first aid kit was kept. He pulled out two ice packs and cracked them, wrapping them in towels and placing one on Clint’s shoulder, the other on his ankle, which was already swelling more than he’d hoped. He nodded at Clint, who held the first ice pack to his arm firmly. Phil sat back, having done as much as he could do until they got back to base.

 

Clint had other ideas. “So,” he said, waggling his eyebrows in a way that should have been a crime, “how about a massage?”

 

Phil did a confused double-take for a second before realizing Clint meant Phil would be the one giving the massage. He supposed Clint’s shoulder muscles would be seizing up pretty badly right about now, but… he couldn’t say he had experience on this end of massage therapy.

 

“I don’t know…” Phil grimaced. “I could give you a head rub?”

 

Clint looked at him curiously. “I mean, I certainly couldn’t complain about that, but… why do you not know? The shoulder and neck muscles aren’t the part that’s actually dislocated, manipulating ‘em shouldn’t be a problem.”

 

Phil looked down at his lap. “It’s just – I’m not exactly a professional,” he admitted.

 

“Aww, don’t worry, I’ll help you!” Clint smiled impishly, causing Phil’s heart to do a backflip in his chest.

 

_S.H.I.E.L.D. agent face, Phil, come on now._ Phil coughed, straightened his back, and moved over to behind Clint, where he leaned back against the helicopter wall. He gently moved Clint’s ice pack over to the side and forwards on his shoulder to give him room to work.

 

_Well, here goes nothing,_ Phil thought, and dug into a spot that looked like it had a lot of muscle.

 

After a couple of seconds, Phil realized that Clint’s back was shaking. Was he hurt?

 

No. Phil was being laughed at.

 

“What?” he asked, aiming for casual.

 

Clint let the laughter he had obviously been trying to keep pent up escape. He doubled over, making the ice pack on his shoulder slip to the ground.

 

Phil rolled his eyes and leaned back in wait. When Clint finally turned to look at him, he just raised an eyebrow.

 

“Hh-sorry,” Clint coughed. “It’s just… I think we’ve finally discovered the one thing the great Phil Coulson is bad at!” He was grinning.

 

Phil hid his blush behind a mask of mild irritation, a look he felt he’d rather perfected over the years.

 

“Well, I did tell you I wasn’t experienced in this,” he said. “I’m not really sure what you expected.”

 

Clint sobered immediately at that, obviously catching on to Phil’s discomfort.

 

“Hey, nooooo,” he downright crooned, and Phil was not letting that adorable image sear itself into his memory, absolutely not, “I didn’t mean to upset you! It’s just – you’re Phil Coulson, I mean, you’re amazing at everything, like it’s actually kinda hot- really hot- it’s- I mean- I- awwwww, mouth, no… Hm. There has to be something you suck at, right? It’s kinda cute that it happens to be the thing I literally do for a living- I mean… fuck.”

 

_Well, that was… new._ Phil found himself blushing for a whole other reason now. He figured he could take pity on Clint, though… well, at least a little bit.

 

“All right, if I’m as terrible a masseuse as you say… why don’t you teach me?” he smirked.

 

Clint’s eyes widened slightly, but he nodded and turned away from Phil again.

 

“Okay, here’s the deal,” he started, “You don’t wanna just dig in there with your thumbs as hard as you can, all right? You wanna start gentle, get the muscle warm before you go too hard, ‘specially since I had the ice pack on. And try using your other fingers. That’s more a massage therapist trick ‘cause we do it so much, but your thumbs are a lot more fragile than you think. If you keep torqueing ‘em like that, you’ll end up spraining something, or getting carpal tunnel even. Better if you use your fingers. Here, give me your hand.”

 

He manipulated Phil’s right hand until it was properly positioned on his shoulder, then guided Phil to apply pressure to a particular area. Phil could feel a knot under his fingers.

 

“And you can rest your other hand on me somewhere nearby, yeah?” Clint continued. “It gives you leverage and it’s grounding for the massage-ee.”

 

Phil nodded, realizing how much theory went into this that he hadn’t noticed in all his appointments with Clint. He tried to follow Clint’s instructions and work around the knots for a few minutes to warm up his shoulder. He felt Clint starting to relax underneath him, and couldn’t help but feel a bit smug.

 

“Mm, yeah, that’s way better,” Clint sighed. “And when you get really good, I can teach you how to work your way down the sides of the shoulder blades and the spine so it feels practically orgasmic.”

 

Well, that was quite the thought. He continued working on Clint’s shoulder, wondering if he’d ever get the opportunity to put his new skills to practice again. With Clint or with anyone, really.

 

A few minutes later, the helicopter landed outside Avengers Tower, and Phil helped Clint to his feet, supporting his right side so that he didn’t have to put any weight on his ankle. As soon as they got off the helicopter, they were swarmed by medical.

 

“I’m good, thanks,” Clint waved away a nurse who seemed to be using some high-tech screening device to run diagnostics on him. A doctor came up immediately afterwards, wanting to get Clint in a sling and into an exam room so they could run tests. Phil secretly thought they just wanted to flirt with Hawkeye, given how their eyes lingered just a second too long on certain areas as they looked him up and down for additional injuries.

 

“We at least need to take a closer look at your shoulder,” they argued, even as Clint was rolling his eyes and pressing tighter into Phil.

 

“I’d prefer Agent Coulson to look after my injuries, thank you very much,” Clint said.

 

The doctor looked at both of them like the idea was ludicrous – which, Phil had to admit, it was. He had no medical training whatsoever and could hardly do much in the way of “looking after Clint’s injuries” beyond giving him another ice pack and reminding him to keep his weight off his foot.

 

“Come on, Phil, tell them I don’t have to go to medical, pleeeeaaaase?” Clint whined. “You know it’s just a sprain and a dislocated shoulder, I’ve just got to rest ‘em, there’s no point, right? If you sign off on it, they’ll _have_ to let me go!”

 

Phil sighed. “If anything doesn’t feel right, you’ll come right back here?” Clint nodded vigorously. Phil turned to the doctor somewhat reluctantly.

 

“He’s with me,” he confirmed. Clint beamed. The doctor looked like they wanted to protest, but nodded and turned away.

 

“Thank you!” Clint said, turning to face Phil while supporting himself on one leg.

 

“No problem,” Phil replied. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

 

“Ugh, I’m gonna have to rearrange so many appointments… how do you feel about doubling up on the cuddle therapy for the next couple weeks? Definitely not gonna be doing any massages for a bit… at least it was my right arm…”

 

Phil rubbed his back reassuringly. “I’m definitely not going to complain about more cuddles. And I’m sure your other clients will overwhelmingly agree.”

 

“It is cuddle season,” Clint nodded.

 

That reminded Phil. “By the way, I’m really sorry we had to call you in on Christmas of all times. You must have had plans.”

 

Clint shrugged, then winced as the movement presumably sent pain through his shoulder.

 

“Not really, to be honest,” he replied. “I had a group of old S.H.I.E.L.D. friends that were gonna get together, but then Natasha got called away for that mission near Lake Baikal. And she’s the only one I really know that well of the group, so…” He tilted his head in what Phil assumed was a shoulderless approximation of another shrug.

 

“That’s right, you’re the one who brought Black Widow in, right?” Phil asked.

 

Clint smiled, oddly bashful. “Yeah.”

 

Phil looked around for inspiration. “Well… I don’t exactly have a Christmas dinner ready to go or anything, but… there’s a good Syrian place a few blocks away that I was planning to go to later. It’s open 365 days a year. Interested?”

 

Clint’s smile grew. “Only if you’ll come see the new _Star Wars_ with me after.”

 

Well that wasn’t a real question, was it?

 

“Deal,” Phil said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize Clint is ace and referring to Phil as hot/comparing things to orgasms. I'm ace too and do that all the time, so... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Anyway, we'll get more into how Clint thinks about his asexuality later. :)


	7. Chapter 7

It was early February and Phil was walking home after a rough two weeks at work, promising himself he’d take at least Saturday off, if not Sunday too. Apparently invading alien armies don’t care that S.H.I.E.L.D. agents sometimes need to sleep, and he’d spent the better part of a week coordinating field strategies, followed by another eight days in armistice negotiations. Just to add insult to injury, they’d eventually settled by offering the aliens a couple thousand tonnes of rock salt. Fucking salt was what they wanted. The amount of time, money, and energy that could have been saved if anyone had bothered to talk before firing all our newest weapons…

 

Phil was never going to be able to look at another salted cracker again.

 

Phil also hadn’t been able to get to Hawkeye’s in two weeks and, coupled with the lack of sleep, his body was feeling the loss. He’d have gone over there right now, except that he was reasonably confident that 9:00 am on a Saturday morning was outside Clint’s business hours. Besides which, a not insignificant part of him just wanted to fall into bed and sleep for days.

 

Phil contemplated grabbing a coffee on his way home, if only so he didn’t fall asleep on the way, but he’d been trying to cut back on caffeine over the last couple of months, and he was pretty sure he’d used up his quota for the next six months over the course of this mission alone. Still, maybe a peppermint tea or something… it wouldn’t keep him up, but it would at least serve to keep him warm on the rest of his walk.

 

With that decided, Phil took a hard left at the next intersection and popped into his third favorite Starbucks, getting in line and placing his order. As he waited for his drink to be made, he struggled not to let his eyes blink shut for more than the usual amount of time.

 

Phil jumped suddenly as he felt a tap on his shoulder, his eyes flying open and his back hitting the straw dispenser on the shelf behind him.

 

“Clint!” he said. Sure enough, there was Clint, mocha in hand and a concerned look on his face.

 

“Well you look like shit,” said Clint.

 

Phil sighed. “Work has been… well, I’m sure you’ve seen the news,” he answered.

 

Clint hummed in the affirmative, then seemed to make a decision.

 

“All right,” he said. He turned, grabbed a drink sitting on the edge of the counter – Phil’s tea, he realized vaguely – then motioned with his head for Phil to follow him outside. “Let’s go!”

 

“Where’re we goin'?” Phil half-asked, half-slurred.

 

Clint stopped when he got outside the door of the Starbucks. “That depends… which way’s your apartment?”

 

Phil stared at him for a moment, confused. _What does that have to do with…?_

 

Clearly realizing Phil was in no mental state to be following even the simplest trains of thought, Clint took pity on him.

 

“I’m taking you back to your place,” he said. “We’re going to get you showered, fed, and into bed, and then we’re going to cuddle and watch shitty movies for the rest of the day, because you can sleep through them and I don’t want you losing track of where we are in _Crazy Ex-Girlfriend_.”

 

Phil blinked stupidly.

 

Clint sighed. “Are you okay with this plan?”

 

Phil nodded.

 

“… Then where’s home?” Clint prompted gently.

 

Shaking himself, Phil set himself to the monumental task of remembering the route he took back from work every day. After a few seconds of waiting for the gears in his brain to start clicking, he set off.

 

The walk home took considerably longer than Phil was used to, which was probably a result of the fact that he kept swaying into traffic, forcing Clint to pull him back and steady him before they moved on. Phil was pretty sure he’d never been this tired in his life, and every piece of ground nearby was starting to look like the ideal place to lay down and take a nap. Phil was just regretting not getting that coffee after all – it’s not an addiction, he’s doing much better, really, but sometimes you just need to stay awake another thirty minutes so you can get home – when Clint caught him in the middle of a stumble, huffed, and hoisted him into a fireman’s carry.

 

“You got an address, Phil?” he asked.

 

Phil was pretty sure he managed to mumble a reply before falling asleep in what really should have been an incredibly uncomfortable position.

 

\---

 

He supposed he must have succeeded, because the next thing he knew he was waking up in bed, warm and happier than he remembered being in weeks. Careful not to do anything that might give away that he was awake before he was ready, he took stock of what was around him.

 

He was lying under a big, soft duvet, which was odd given that he’d been sleeping with nothing more than a small blanket for the last several years – ever since Audrey had left, taking all the bedding with her, among other things. He’d just never got around to picking out a new one, and yet, here he was. He knew from the feel of the mattress under him and the sound of traffic and swallows outside the window that he was in his apartment, so someone must have brought the duvet in while he was sleeping.

 

Phil rolled over, keeping his eyes closed for the moment but using his other senses to catalog what was going on around him. The TV was on in the living room, louder that Phil normally would have left it. He could hear someone – Clint, presumably – clanging around in the kitchen, and when he took a deep breath he noticed the smell of bacon wafting through the door. Yet another thing he was pretty sure he didn’t have in the house, seeing as he didn’t eat pork.

 

Phil let himself drift for a few minutes before heaving himself into a seated position and opening his eyes. It was dark outside. Phil fumbled on his bedside table until he found his watch – 9:07 pm. That meant he’d been sleeping… twelve hours? Shit.

 

He pulled himself out of bed, noticing he’d been stripped down to his undershirt and boxers. He traded the boxers for a clean pair of pajama pants and the undershirt for an old S.H.I.E.L.D. t-shirt. Then he made his way out to the kitchen.

 

There was Clint, back to the bedroom door and shimmying his ass back and forth – _holy shit_ – as he fried eggs on the stove. Phil gave himself a moment to appreciate the view before clearing his throat.

 

“Hey,” he croaked, but to no response from Clint. He must not be wearing his hearing aids, then – that explained all the noise.

 

Phil felt for the light switch to his right and slowly flicked it off and then on again. Clint startled, but turned towards him.

 

“Oh, hey, he lives!” Clint called out, just a bit too loudly.

 

 _Good morning_ , Phil signed, though Clint was already reaching for his hearing aids on the counter and putting them in.

 

“Sorry, you were snoring,” Clint smiled, pointing at his ears. “I tried just turning them down, but eventually I gave up.”

 

Phil winced. “Sorry. I’ve been told I sound like a tractor when I haven’t had enough sleep. Which, granted, is most of the time.”

 

Clint just grinned harder. “No problem, one of the many benefits of being Deaf!” he answered. _Fuck_ , that shouldn’t be tormenting Phil with thoughts of the two of them sharing a bed every night, Phil snoring like a jackhammer and Clint just pulling out his hearing aids and muting the TV in favor of watching the subtitles.

 

 _Change the subject_ , he thought.

 

“So, you made breakfast? It’s not exactly morning,” he offered.

 

Clint turned back towards the food he’d been making, and started to pile it onto two plates.

 

“First off,” Clint said, “Breakfast for dinner is one of the gods’ finest creations. And second off, you just woke up, so it’s basically breakfast time for you, right?”

 

“Fair enough,” Phil chuckled. He politely turned down the bacon but accepted a plate heaping high with toast, eggs, and baked beans in tomato sauce. He then watched in awe as Clint opened the suddenly full fridge to pull out what looked like freshly squeezed orange juice.

 

“Umm… so, you did some shopping?”

 

Clint looked sheepish for a moment, but answered the question all the same. “In my defense, you were asleep all day, and there’s only so many terrible movies one person can watch all by themself. And I went to find some lunch, but you had nothing in the fridge that wasn’t spoiled, and I’d already tried looking for bedding to no avail, so… I may have called Nat and asked her to pick up some things. I blame you entirely. Whatever happened to taking care of yourself, huh?”

 

Phil didn’t think that was entirely fair – he’d been doing a much better job of taking care of himself lately, thank you very much. The last two weeks were an anomaly and shouldn’t be taken into consideration.

 

He said as much to Clint, who just shook his head sadly.

 

“Really, so I’m just supposed to not consider that you were literally – _literally_ , mind you – falling asleep on your walk home from work, so much so that I had to call Fury to find out your address and then fish through your suit jacket for your keys? Because I’m struggling not to picture what might have happened if you hadn’t run into me at Starbucks.”

 

 _Oh._ Phil guessed that meant he hadn’t managed to mumble out his address on the way home after all.

 

“Thank you,” was all he was able to answer, and Clint seemed to accept that. They both focused on their food for a few moments, until another thought occurred to Phil.

 

“Don’t you normally work Saturdays?” he asked.

 

Clint took a minute to chew his food and swallow before answering.

 

“No, I’ve actually been working on changing up my schedule the last couple weeks. Trying to move to slightly more typical 9-5ish hours without totally alienating my clientele, you know? I’d actually sort of thought that might be why I hadn’t seen you recently,” he murmured, pushing the food around on his plate.

 

“Nope, just end-of-the-world stuff,” Phil shrugged. “But why the sudden change in work hours?”

 

“Oh, you know, I’m not as young as I used to be, yadda-yadda, ‘circadian rhythms are a good thing, Clint’, et cetera,” Clint said. He was blushing, though, and Phil got the feeling that might not be all there was to it.

 

“Anywho…” Clint continued, “I don’t work until tomorrow afternoon, so I’m down to finish eating, get you showered, and then get back into your bed for a night of sleepy cuddles and terrible movies, if you want?”

 

That sounded perfect to Phil. “And then in the morning, maybe we could get a run in together? I don’t know if you’re a runner, but… or if you’ve got things to do, obviously just – “

 

“I’d love to go for a run tomorrow,” Clint said.

 

Phil nodded. “Great. I haven’t had the chance to hit the gym in a couple weeks, so that’d be awesome.”

 

They finished eating breakfast over easy conversation, then Phil picked up the dirty plates, insisting on “at least doing something to pull his own weight around here”. He met Clint in the bedroom, but was quickly shooed out again, with instructions not to come back until after he’d showered.

 

On his way to the bathroom, Phil lifted an arm to smell his pit, and grimaced. Okay, he’d already known Clint was a saint for putting up with him all day, but he hadn’t realized quite how much of one.

 

Phil took his time in the shower, both to make sure he didn’t go back to Clint smelling like anything other than roses, and because it had been way too long since he’d had the chance to luxuriate in a hot shower. By the time he stepped out to find his cupboard filled with brand new, hotel-grade-fluffy towels, he was feeling better than he had in ages. He was also pretty sure he could sleep another twelve hours or so without issue.

 

Phil opened the door to his bedroom to find Clint watching _Superman IV_ and he had to take a second to catch his breath. Clint looked so remarkably at home in Phil’s bed – not that Clint didn’t look at home everywhere, frankly, it was just something about who he was as a person – that Phil was stunned.

 

 _Oh fuck_ , he thought. _I think I’m in love with him._

 

Suddenly, Phil realized that the fantasy of him and Clint sharing this bed together for years to come didn’t necessarily have to be as far from the truth as he’d thought. After all, Clint was here, having spent his entire day decorating and watching TV and letting Phil sleep. Somewhere along the way they’d clearly progressed past your standard massage therapist-client relationship.

 

Phil thought back on his life over the last few years, and how he’d been so convinced a senior S.H.I.E.L.D. agent couldn’t make time for a serious relationship in his life. And yet, somehow Clint had wormed his way into his life and into his heart, and the idea had stopped seeming so absurd and had started feeling like the future.

 

The only question was: did Clint feel the same way Phil did?

 

Phil let himself push that thought away for the moment, and instead got comfy snuggled up against Clint’s side.

 

If he fell asleep again within minutes, he could hardly be blamed – he was clearly sleep deprived, and revelations like the one he’d just had were exhausting.


	8. Chapter 8

“Would you like to go out with me?”

 

_“Yes, Phil, I’d love to go out with you. When were you thinking?”_

 

“I… when was I thinking? Friday? Next week? Crap, come on Coulson, get it together…”

 

Phil was rehearsing in front of the mirror. He’d arrived home from work about half an hour ago, and was trying to work up the nerve to just ask Clint the fuck out already.

 

_Okay. Just go for it_. He pulled out his phone and went through his contacts until he found Clint’s number. He’d been told when Clint had been at his house last weekend that he could text, and that seemed more likely to work out for him than a phone call, so after a moment’s hesitation that’s what he did.

 

**Hi, Clint, are you at Hawkeye’s tonight?**

He held his breath as he waited for a response. Then after thirty seconds passed with nothing, he realized that probably wasn’t the smartest idea, and went to make himself a cup of tea.

 

Just as he’d finished pouring the hot water into a mug, his phone buzzed.

 

**_I sure can be! Meet u there in like 20 mins?_ **

****

_He’s not in. What do I do now?_ Phil thought.

**Oh, if you’re not in, it’s certainly no problem. I just thought it might be early enough for your new schedule still.**

_There, that didn’t sound too desperate, right?_

 

**_No probs! Wasn’t feeling great this morning so I cancelled my appts for the day, but I’m good 2 go now if u want._ **

****

Phil tried to psych himself to say yes. He’d assumed Clint would be in, and now that he was going to have to come all the way in when Phil wasn’t even looking for an appointment… he wasn’t sure his plan was still a good one. On the other hand, if he didn’t ask now, he wasn’t convinced he ever would.

 

Another text came in while Phil was thinking through his reply.

 

**_Been hoping 2 c u anyway_** **_:)_ **

****

Phil gulped. Well, there it was. Now or never. He might as well get this over with.

 

**Great, see you soon.**

\---

 

“Would you like to go out with me? _Would you like to go out with me?_ Clint, would you like to go out with me?” Phil repeated to himself as he rounded the bend towards Hawkeye’s.

 

_You can do this, Coulson. The worst that happens is he says no, and you have to find a new massage therapist. He’ll probably still be okay with being friends anyway, it’s fine._

 

Phil took one last deep breath in and opened the door to the massage parlor.

 

“Would you like to go out with me?”

 

Phil froze. He took an instant to replay the moment in his head. No, he was pretty sure he hadn’t spoken yet, so…

 

He looked up and saw Clint, wide-eyed and bright red, covering his face with his hand.

 

“Awww Hawkeye no…,” said Clint, and this time Phil was sure it was him speaking. “Phil, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean – I mean, obviously I’d like to – you can say no, it’s no problem, I didn’t mean to ask until after the appointment but it doesn’t have to be awkward – “

 

“I’d love to go out with you, Clint.”

 

Clint peeked at Phil through the slats between his fingers.

 

“Really?”

 

Phil walked up to the counter, reached over, and gently pulled Clint’s hands away from his face so he could see his response.

 

_Yes, really_ , he signed. _I’d actually come here to ask you the same thing._

 

Clint’s eyes widened again, but this time he looked surprised rather than mortified. _You did?_ he signed back. Phil nodded.

 

“So, uh… when did you want to go?” Clint asked.

 

“Barring any end-of-the-world-style emergencies, how does Friday night work for you? Say eight o’clock? I can cook?” Phil’s heart was pounding loudly in his ears, but he made an effort to sound sure of himself when he answered.

 

Clint coughed. “Really?” he teased. “I’ve seen your fridge, and I’m not sure cooking’s your forte…”

 

Phil raised an eyebrow. “You saw my fridge on a day when I hadn’t been home in over two weeks. I’m not saying this’ll be gourmet level stuff, but I can definitely come up with something edible.”

 

Clint still looked unsure, and suddenly Phil realized why.

 

“Hey, no expectations, by the way, okay? Just because I’m inviting you over doesn’t mean anything has to happen, or that you have to stay. I just haven’t had the time for a home cooked meal in a while, and thought it might be nice. But if you’d rather go to a restaurant, that’s absolutely fine too. Or a movie, or bowling, mini golf… on second thought, bowling and mini golf would probably just prove humiliating for me. But whatever you like, really.” Clint visibly relaxed as Phil was speaking, and he guessed he’d hit the nail on the head.

 

“No, I’d love to come to your place,” Clint said when Phil had finished rambling. “We can watch TV or something after dinner if we want.”

“That sounds perfect,” Phil said.

 

“Great,” Clint said. “No expectations, right?”

 

“No expectations.”

 

Clint’s smile lit up the mostly dark reception area. “So… massage?” he offered.

 

Phil shook his head. “I just came here to talk. I’ll book something for next week, but I’d rather try this first date thing first, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Of course,” Clint’s head bobbed vigorously. “Okay, well… see you then?”

 

“Friday, eight o’clock, my place.”

 

“No expectations.”

 

“No expectations.”

 

“Great. Cool. Well… take care, Phil.”

 

“I promise.”

 

Phil walked out the door and barely resisted skipping all the way home. He felt like he was floating on air.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... long chapter, and multiple notes/warnings.
> 
> First: There is a pretty extensive/explicit sex scene in this chapter. It's totally consensual, and Clint's the one initiating, and there's lot of talking first, but... if that's not your thing, you can just skip the rest of the chapter when you get to "After dinner". I'll leave a note at the end of the chapter with the key plot points - otherwise it's really totally unnecessary.
> 
> Second: I don't know how to write sex scenes. At all. So it's probably terrible and awkward and overly explicit and uncomfortable. The goal here wasn't really smut, it was more about communication and showing how Phil and Clint deal with various things in their new relationship. Okay, just wanted to get that out there. Please feel free to give me feedback as I'm definitely open to making changes.
> 
> Third: There is a BRIEF mention of watersports. It's really blink-and-you-miss-it brief and more about showing two adults maturely discussing their interests than anything else, but I get that it can really squick some people out. So you've been warned, and can also feel free to skip the scene as you see fit.

He felt like he was dying.

 

Phil had left work at five – _fucking five, okay? Like, the afternoon version_ – to start cooking and get ready for his date with Clint. So far, he had managed to burn the grilled salmon twice, and had had to say “fuck it” and opt for spaghetti and meatballs instead. Luckily, he had a fairly decent homemade meatballs recipe, but he had spent so much time making and remaking dinner that it was now approaching 8:00 and he hadn’t had time to clear the empty pizza boxes off the living room floor, make the bed (in case of snuggles, okay?), or figure out what to wear.

 

Phil thought back to earlier today when he’d run into May at the gym.

 

_“Agent Coulson,” May had said._

_“Agent May,” Phil had replied. “Care to join me for a sparring match?”_

_They had, and after May had pinned Phil in 7.1 seconds flat, she had looked at him in confusion – with more than a hint of suspicion thrown in for flavor._

_“Coulson, I’m good, but you’re not that bad,” she’d said, “What gives?”_

_Phil had sighed. He didn’t need to be asked twice to know he wasn’t going to get out of this one without answering._

_“I have a date tonight,” he’d mumbled._

_May had raised her eyebrows, and Phil couldn’t help but feel slightly smug that he’d managed to catch her off guard. Maybe it said something that he could revel in the victory when the clear implication was that he was incapable of getting a date._

_“It’s with Agent Hawkeye,” he’d clarified._

_May had smirked. “You mean your massage therapist?” she had asked. “Oh, don’t give me that, I’ve talked to Fury. You really think I wasn’t going to know?”_

_Phil had had to concede that point. Still, now that he had her here…_

_“Hey, May?” he had asked. “What does one wear to a first date when one is cooking for said date at home?”_

_May had raised a hand to a forehead in something resembling fond exasperation._

_“So what you’re telling me is not only are you coming to me –_ me – _for dating advice, but you’re_ cooking _for the man on your first date? You know what, Coulson? Wear whatever you like, this can only end well.”_

 

_With that, she had lowered a hand to help Phil off the floor, then turned and stalked off. Before stepping off the mat, though, she had turned back to Phil for a second._

_“Whatever you do, don’t wear a suit!” she had called._

So no suits.

 

He rummaged through his closet for anything that he didn’t wear either to work or to the gym. He idly wished he’d kept his wardrobe from when he was working in the field and had to go on undercover missions every so often, though he had to admit his body no longer looked quite like it had at the time. Eventually, he managed to dig out a pair of dark jeans that weren’t too dirty and a blue shirt that he hoped might bring out his eyes. Not that he’d ever considered his eyes to be his greatest feature, but he hoped that they’d at least draw attention away from his receding hairline.

 

Just as Phil was checking the time – crap, 7:57, he wasn’t going to have time to make this place remotely presentable – he heard his phone buzz and checked to see he’d received a text from Clint.

 

**_Running a bit late – b there in 20 mins. Sorry! :)_ **

****

Phil breathed a sigh of relief, wondering if Clint was intentionally delaying to give him more time to prepare. After all, he presumably hadn’t expected Phil to leave work as early as he had… Phil’s heart leapt as he considered that alternatively, maybe Clint had been stressing out over his choice of wardrobe as well.

 

 **Not a problem** , he texted back. **Spaghetti’s okay for you, right? You said anything but strawberries.** Not that he’d have time to make something new if it didn’t work for Clint, but he supposed they could always order takeout. That may have been a better strategy in the first place.

 

**_Spaghetti sounds awesome, c u soon! Can’t wait!_ **

****

Phil stared at the text for a moment, smiling. Then he remembered that he only had twenty minutes to turn his apartment into something date-worthy, and he got to work.

 

He made the bed, cleaned the living room, and opened a window to flush out some of the stale air. He then cleared off the counters, set the table, and lit a couple of candles as a centrepiece. Finally, he changed out the towels in the bathroom for fresh ones and tucked some of his more embarrassing possessions away.

 

He was just making sure he had Netflix properly set up on his TV when he heard a knock on the door.

 

_Show time._

 

He thanked the gods of Asgard – whether or not they were in any way involved – for those extra twenty minutes, then cursed his own body for making him feel like he was about to jump out of his skin.

 

He took one last look at himself in the mirror, then opened the door.

 

“Clint, hi,” he said. Any further words died in his throat as he looked at Clint in a dark purple sweater, holding a bouquet of red roses in his hands and staring at his feet.

 

“Hi Phil,” Clint said, glancing up at him.

 

Phil opened the door and gestured for him to come in. Clint followed his lead and kicked off his shoes, then held the roses out to Phil.

 

“Thanks,” Phil said awkwardly. He motioned for Clint to follow him into the kitchen, and checked the spaghetti sauce before digging through his cabinets for a suitable vase. Luckily, he found one.

“So…” Clint started. “How was your day?”

 

With that, the tension was broken, as Phil reminded himself that this was someone he could talk to about work without having to keep secrets, but someone who was far enough away from it himself not to be bored by his stories. As he served them both spaghetti (“Extra meatballs, please!” Clint requested), he told Clint about the new recruits he was training and gave him an assessment of their individual strengths and weaknesses. Clint made a few suggestions about how to deal with the particularly stubborn agents (“I may or may not have terrorized every handler I ever had”), and Phil took them to heart. Then Clint dove into an animated story about how he’d almost got himself killed by a polar bear on a mission in Nunavut once, and Phil knew this whole dating thing had been a good idea.

 

\---

 

After dinner, Phil invited Clint to stay and watch TV on the couch. Phil was just starting up the next episode of _Crazy Ex-Girlfriend_ on Netflix when Clint leaned over and pulled the remote from his hand, choosing an episode of _F.R.I.E.N.D.S._ instead. When Phil gave him a skeptical look, Clint just shrugged. “We’d just end up having to rewatch it again later,” he said. Phil’s heart skipped a beat.

 

Sure enough, not five minutes into the pilot, Clint leaned over and put his head on Phil’s shoulder and Phil lost track of anything that was happening on the screen. Twenty-odd minutes after that, Clint moved to grab Phil’s hand, and when Phil looked over at him, Clint murmured, “Can I kiss you?” Phil nodded and leaned in, smiling.

 

The first kiss was tentative, just lips pressing gently against lips. It wasn’t enough for either of them, though, and soon Phil had his hand in Clint’s hair, Clint straddling his lap with his arms wrapped tightly around Phil’s waist. When Clint experimentally brushed his tongue over Phil’s lower lip, Phil happily parted his lips to make room. Clint tasted slightly of garlic and Phil wondered briefly if spaghetti hadn’t been the best choice for dinner, but Clint didn’t seem to be complaining and he supposed they’d both had the same thing anyway.

 

Suddenly, Clint ground his hips down on top of Phil, and he wasn’t sure which of them he heard moaning. Maybe both.

 

Clint pulled away from Phil’s lips just far enough to ask, “Bedroom?”

 

“Yes, please,” Phil breathed. Clint was already pulling Phil up with him. Getting to the bedroom took longer than anticipated, as neither Phil nor Clint could keep their hands off the other.

 

Almost as soon as they got settled on the bed and Phil started pushing Clint’s shirt up, though, Clint pulled away.

 

“Wait, stop,” he panted. Phil pulled back in confusion.

 

Clint continued, “If we’re going to do this, we should talk first.”

 

Yeah, that probably wasn’t a bad idea, Phil reasoned. This was certainly more than either of them had been anticipating for tonight. What had happened to no expectations? He was still out of breath from the kissing, though, so he just nodded, scooched back on the bed, and folded his legs, criss-cross applesauce, gesturing for Clint to start.

 

“Look, Phil… I really, really like you. And I _really_ want to have sex with you tonight,” Clint started. Phil furrowed his brow and nodded, confused. He had thought that part was pretty clear, given that Clint had been the one who’d suggested they move things to the bedroom. Then again, they had said no expectations.

 

“But?” he prompted, voice rough.

 

“But…” Clint continued, looking down at his lap, where he was picking at his fingernails. “I want you to know that, if we do this… that I might not want to have sex with you _again_ anytime soon.”

 

Phil’s heart sank. There it was. And here he’d thought… wow, maybe dating your massage therapist wasn’t such a good idea after all. He hadn’t expected to fall this hard this fast, and he was suddenly certain he was going to end the night crushed – and unable to ever get another massage without thinking about Clint.

 

“Oh,” he spoke carefully, not wanting to jump to conclusions or to give too much away. “So, you’re saying this… this is like a one-night thing for you?” He knew Clint as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent would be able to pick up the hurt in his voice, even though he felt he was doing a fairly good job of hiding it, given the circumstances.

 

Clint shook his head vigorously. “No, no, God Phil, of course not!” he said, grabbing Phil’s hand and holding it between his. Phil looked up at his face and saw the desperation there.

 

“No, of course not, Phil, I just said I really, _really_ like you,” Clint continued, and Phil started to feel hopeful again. “I one hundred percent want to keep dating you, and making out, and cuddling not just because it’s my job, and spending time with you and all the rest. It’s just… uhh… sex isn’t, like, a super regular thing for me?” Clint bit his lip, but he looked like he was just trying to decide what to say next, so Phil held back to give him time.

 

After a few moments, Clint sighed. “Look, Phil, the thing is… I’m what’s called asexual. It doesn’t mean I hate sex or anything, just… I don’t experience sexual attraction? It’s kinda hard to explain.”

 

Relief washed over Phil in a wave. _He does like me._

 

“Oh, okay, that’s no problem,” Phil answered, hearing how weak his voice sounded as he tried to process the fact that he _could_ have this after all, “So are you a sex-favorable ace, or sex-neutral, or…? It sounds like you aren’t totally repulsed, but maybe not super invested in sex. Am I reading that right?”

 

Clint stared openly at Phil for a moment, then blinked and shook his head.

 

“I… what? How do you know…?”

 

_Oh, right. Duh._

 

“Uh, I… dated a sex-repulsed ace woman about a decade ago. And before you ask, no, that’s not why we broke up. She just had very different thoughts on fidelity than me.”

 

Clint winced sympathetically.

 

“So…”

 

“So you were in the middle of telling me your views on sex?”

 

“Right,” Clint started. “I guess… you asked if I’m sex-favorable or sex-neutral, and I guess it’s somewhere in between? Like, I really want to have sex with you right now, _really_ badly. I’m super turned on, and I really like you, and I don’t think I’m demi or grey exactly, I think of myself as full-on ace, but… anyway, yeah. But most of the time… I don’t? Want to have sex? And it’s not just that I don’t think of it, it really has no particular appeal most of the time.”

 

Phil nodded and shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, thinking through the implications of what Clint was saying.

 

“Would you prefer if I always just waited for you to initiate?”

 

Clint blinked again, clearly thrown by something Phil was saying, although Phil had no idea what it was. Then Clint blushed and ducked his head. “I guess… not really… honestly, initiating can be kind of hard for me sometimes? You should probably mostly… I just… might say no a lot, and that has to be okay.”

 

Phil just smiled. “I’ll try not to let my big male ego get hurt when you shoot me down.” He was careful to say “when” rather than “if”, so Clint knew he understood that rejection was going to be part of the deal here no matter what. It seemed to be the right move, if Clint’s broad grin was anything to go by.

 

“Okay, great!” Clint said, and then Phil suddenly had 180 pounds of archer-come-massage-therapist in his lap. He let himself enjoy the almost aggressive kissing for a few moments, then pushed Clint off of him again, much to the apparent consternation of the latter.

 

Clint did his best impression of a hurt puppy and honest-to-god _whimpered_ at Phil, which he refused to admit tugged at his heartstrings. _Not one bit._

 

“Clint,” he said, “I need to make sure you’re okay with all this. Don’t get me wrong, I get that you want this,” he clarified when it looked like Clint was opening his mouth to protest, “I just – want to make sure I’m respecting your boundaries. Are there things you don’t want?”

 

Clint huffed. “No pain, no choking, and if I blow you I’m not gonna swallow,” Clint rattled off. “I can go into my full list of hard and soft limits if you really want, but I get the feeling tonight’s going to be pretty vanilla, so I’m not sure that’s necessary. I’ll tell you if I want you to stop something. Good?”

 

“Good,” Phil confirmed, and started to move towards Clint again, but was rebuffed. He frowned in confusion, and Clint just raised his eyebrows. _Oh, right,_ Phil reminded himself. _I guess I get to have boundaries too._ He took a deep breath.

 

“I don’t like pain either – you know that – and anything we do has to be safe. So there’s definitely no issue with you not swallowing, because if you do blow me you’ll be using a condom. I’ve been tested recently, but I also handle incredibly dangerous ops on a day-to-day basis, and I’ve been told I’m a bit of a boy scout when it comes to safety.”

 

“I’ve been tested recently too,” Clint nodded his assent.

 

Phil thought for a moment, then added, “Oh, and I hope you’re prepared to cuddle the shit out of me when this is over.”

 

“Now that I can do,” Clint smirked. “So, were those all the things we needed to cover… because like I said, I _really_ want to have sex with you.”

 

Phil answered him by moving to straddle his hips and kissing him passionately. Clint’s lips were soft against his, but they moved enthusiastically with the kiss. He opened them when Phil experimented with his tongue, and Phil heard Clint moan. He embraced the sound and continued to explore Clint’s mouth, looking for what other noises he could draw out of him.

 

Clearly, Clint thought this was moving too slowly, because Phil felt strong hands on his torso, and then the bottom of his shirt being tugged upwards. Phil pulled back just long enough to pull the shirt over his head and throw it to the side of the bed, then began working on undressing Clint.

 

“Hey, Phil?” Clint asked as he flipped Phil onto his back, pulled his own shirt off, and then somehow began undoing both their belts at the same time, each with one hand. Phil was going to need to remember to ask how the fuck he did that.

 

“Hmm?” he moaned, making slightly humiliating grabby-hands as he tried to get his palms onto Clint’s rock-hard abs.

 

Clint pulled his pants and boxers off in one fell swoop, then turned back to Phil and bent down to kiss him for all he was worth. Phil rutted up against him as he breathed into the kiss.

 

Clint’s kisses migrated from Phil’s lips, across his jaw, and to the space between his earlobe and his neck. Phil groaned and moved his hands to Clint’s hips, trying to work him into a rhythm that would provide some much-needed friction. Clint, however, seemed happy to ignore Phil’s dick and focus instead on kissing and sucking every inch of his upper body.

 

Just as Phil was starting to think Clint had given up on his earlier train of thought, he barely heard Clint mumble into his ear, “Weird question for a first date, but… how do you feel about watersports?”

 

Phil froze for a split-second in stunned silence. Then his body seemed to remember that he had an extremely attractive man, whom he cared about far too much given how short a time they’d known each other, currently on top of him, and he went back to exploring Clint’s ridiculously sharp hipbones with his thumbs while he thought through an actual answer to the question.

 

“Why, do you need to…?” he asked tentatively.

 

“No, no,” Clint answered, “Just… curious.” He chose that moment to bite down gently on Phil’s left shoulder – not enough to hurt, just enough to light up a few nerve endings – and Phil almost forgot what he was doing. If they were going to have another serious conversation, it was going to have to happen later.

 

“Mmm… not tonight?” he managed.

 

Clint took that with a hum of acknowledgment and began sucking at the spot where his teeth had just been.

 

Phil really needed to get his pants off right now.

 

He wriggled beneath Clint until he got the message and moved forward up Phil’s body, so that he was practically sitting on Phil’s stomach. Phil wasn’t sure that was the easiest way to do this, but luckily he was fairly flexible and was able to pull his pants and briefs off from underneath Clint. As soon as they were out of the way, Clint moved back to lay on top of him and rut against his stomach.

 

“Condom,” Phil gasped out, flailing vaguely towards the side table to his left.

 

Clint reached up and pulled out a row of condoms and some lube – of course his hand had landed on the cherry-flavored bottle. As if this night wasn’t embarrassing enough. Clint just took it in stride, though, and waved both items suggestively.

 

“Do you want to… or should I…?”

 

“I want to fuck you,” Phil panted, and Clint smiled and climbed off Phil to lie on his back.

 

“Good thing I cleaned up then,” Clint quipped, then promptly blushed as he seemed to realize what that meant he’d been assuming. Phil didn’t care.

 

“That mean I get to rim you?” he asked.

 

Clint’s head bobbed up and down with a force Phil thought had to be painful, though he supposed perhaps Clint’s neck wasn’t in as bad a shape as Phil’s had been when he’d first started the massage therapy. Maybe vigorous nodding was okay for some people. Hell, with all the progress he’d been making recently, Phil almost thought it might be in _his_ future someday.

 

Anyway, back to the task at hand.

 

Phil reached for the drawer in his bedside table, and pulled out a dental dam. He inserted it, then made his way down towards Clint’s hole.

 

He tried a first experimental lick of Clint’s thigh. Clint moaned and brought his right hand down to grip Phil’s hair. Phil took this as a good sign, and began to mouth his way gently towards Clint’s opening.

 

When he gave a lick to the sensitive skin surrounding Clint’s hole, Clint bucked upwards so hard he just about hit Phil in the face.

 

He continued this way for a couple of minutes, waiting to feel Clint melt underneath his ministrations before testing further. When Clint seemed thoroughly relaxed, he tried pushing into him, fucking him with his tongue.

 

Clint’s hand on Phil’s hair just gripped tighter, and he encouraged Phil to move deeper inside him.

 

Eventually, Phil was forced to come up for air. He took the opportunity to peer up at Clint, looking totally fucked out on the bed, and ask smugly, “Good?”

 

“Uhhh-huh, Phil, it’s amazing, please, please, I need your fingers now.”

 

Phil reached for a glove and the lube and happily obliged.

 

He found that, after the rim job, Clint was already fairly open, so he was able to slide two fingers in without much difficulty. Clint gasped as he began to scissor gently, but followed it up by whispering “Yes, yes, please,” so Phil figured he wasn’t in any pain.

 

Phil continued this way for several minutes, until Clint was begging him to add another finger, _now_. He did, and Clint moaned as Phil finally found his prostate. Phil grinned and began playing with the spot, curious to see what other sounds he could draw out of his partner. Turned out, Clint knew a lot of foul language. Phil just grinned and brought his left hand up to brush Clint’s nipple.

 

“Phil…” Clint whined as Phil continued to open him up, granted probably for somewhat longer than strictly necessary, but it was just so much fun. “Please… need your cock…”

 

Phil took one last brush of Clint’s prostate before pulling his fingers out and using his free hand to toss Clint a condom to open.

 

Clint fiddled with the packet, breathing hard and whimpering.

 

“Aww, hands, nooo,” Clint grumbled as he pulled too hard, finally ripping the packet open but tearing the condom as well.

 

Phil just chuckled and grabbed another packet, opening it himself this time and rolling it on.

 

He expected to push into Clint from above, but as soon as he had the condom on, he felt himself being rolled over once again, and looked up to find Clint sitting over him, waiting for confirmation. He nodded and held Clint’s hips as he lowered himself down onto Phil.

 

Clint had been well and truly prepared, and it wasn’t long before Phil was bottoming out inside him. He took a moment to get used to the feeling of being inside Clint. Soon, though, Clint started working himself up and down, and Phil couldn’t help moaning at the sensation.

 

He suddenly felt the desperate need to get his hands on Clint, so he reached towards him, asked “Can I…?”, and at Clint’s “Yes! Fuck, please!” began stroking him firmly. Clint’s back arched and he sped up his rhythm on top of Phil, so Phil picked up his own pace to match.

 

They continued this way, breathing hard and sweating heavily, until Clint brought his right hand to cover Phil’s and increased the pressure. Not thirty seconds later, Clint was arching his back and coming in long spurts that coated both their hands and made their way onto Phil’s chest.

 

Clint didn’t let up his pace, though. If anything, he began to work harder. He brought his hands to rub at Phil’s nipples and Phil moaned, feeling them go instantly hard under his ministrations.

 

Phil continued to enjoy the sensation of being inside Clint’s beautiful, beautiful ass and the sounds of Clint’s breathing, labored but satisfied. After several more minutes of the same, though, Phil felt himself begin to become hyper-sensitive to the touch, and he realized with a sinking feeling that as amazing as this was, that was all it was going to be.

 

Phil closed his eyes and cursed his middle age for betraying him like this in front of the man of his dreams. He didn’t say anything, though, not yet ready to cut the night short and succumb to his embarrassment. Instead he simply let out a moan that was part arousal, part mild discomfort, and ran his palms up and down Clint’s upper thighs. When Clint bent down to kiss him, he was glad he hadn’t spoken up. He pulled himself up onto his elbows to get into a more comfortable position, and licked into Clint’s mouth greedily.

 

When Clint came up from the kiss for air, though, Phil knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. The intense pleasure he’d been feeling earlier had become almost painful from over-stimulation. Phil blushed and blinked past the stinging behind his eyes as he opened his mouth to speak.

 

“Clint, I… fuck, I’m sorry, I don’t think I can…” He looked off to the side of the room to avoid making eye contact.

 

Clint leaned down and grabbed his chin with one hand, turning his head to force him to look his lover straight in the eyes. Clint blinked, then brought his lips down to suck at Phil’s collarbone. He sucked a nice, dark hickey there before pulling back and murmuring, “D’you wanna keep trying?”

 

Phil blinked back tears as he shook his head in Clint’s grip. He braced himself for the speech. “ _It’s okay, it’s perfectly natural, it happens to everyone, especially at your age… it’s not that important”… If it’s so goddamn unimportant, why does everyone feel the need to say that?_ , Phil thought bitterly.

 

Clint didn’t say anything though, just pulled himself off of Phil before lowering himself back down to lay on top of him. He kissed his way downwards from Phil’s jaw towards his chest, and Phil arched his back when Clint sucked at his left nipple. Clint had managed to maneuver one hand into Phil’s hair and the other to thumb at his right nipple, and Phil got lost in his head as he tried to figure out how to respond to all the sensations at once.

 

Clint continued to explore Phil’s body lazily with both hands and mouth, leaving Phil’s abused cock alone in favor of taking him apart piece by piece. Phil didn’t know what he liked better – when Clint scratched his fingernails up and down Phil’s inner thighs, or the hickey he sucked into Phil’s neck that he was sure would be peeking out from under his shirt collars for days.

 

Phil had no notion of how long Clint kept up his increasingly sleepy but nonetheless glorious efforts. By the time he collapsed with his leg thrown haphazardly over both of Phil’s and his face buried in the crook of his neck, Phil’s skin was buzzing and hot despite his erection which had long since flagged. He wasn’t sure he’d remember his middle name if asked, and the one thing he could keep track of was his desperate need to be as close to Clint as possible. He pulled the blanket over the two of them, using the movement as an excuse to wriggle his way deeper underneath Clint’s warm body.

 

When Phil’s heart rate had slowed somewhat, he turned his head to talk to Clint about what had happened, but Clint was already drifting off to sleep. At Phil’s movement, he stirred just enough to blink his eyes twice and mumble, “’s that good?” before shutting them again.

 

Phil found himself smiling into the disheveled mop of Clint’s hair despite himself. “Yeah, gorgeous, it was good,” he muttered, before closing his eyes and letting himself drift.

 

\---

 

The first thing Phil thought when he woke up was that he was sleeping curled up against a fucking furnace.

 

The second thing he thought was the he was sleeping curled up against Clint, who he’d somehow never realized was a fucking furnace.

 

The third thing he thought, blinking his eyes open, was that Clint had very pretty eyes.

 

The fourth thing he thought was that Clint was smiling and gazing at him with those very pretty eyes, and he should maybe smile back.

 

“Hey,” Clint murmured.

 

“Hey,” Phil said back.

 

Clint grinned. “So, how was last night for you? Sorry I fell asleep before I could really ask…”

 

“It was great,” Phil replied honestly, bringing his hand up to rest on Clint’s hip. “Was it okay for you?”

 

“’Mmazing,” Clint hummed.

 

Phil figured he was going to have to be the one to break the ice here. “So… when I sort of… fucked up at the one goal of sex… you know that wasn’t your fault, right? That just… happens sometimes when you get to be my age.” He knew he wasn’t really _that_ much older than Clint, but last night those few years had been put in stark relief for him, and he couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened.

 

Clint just rolled his eyes and smirked. “Dude, if that’s the one goal of sex for you, I don’t think you’re doin’ it right,” he teased.

 

Phil swallowed. Yeah, okay, he supposed he could hardly disagree after the things Clint had done with his tongue last night.

 

Clint pushed himself up into a sitting position and held out his hand for Phil to follow. “Come on,” he said, “You can make me pancakes and then we can cuddle for the rest of the morning.”

 

Phil gladly obliged. He made a mean blueberry pancake, and was more than happy to demonstrate the skill.

 

\---

 

Later that morning (okay, early that afternoon) when Clint left to go to work, he kissed Phil on the cheek and smiled a dazzling smile up at him. Phil just barely stopped himself from saying, “I love you,” and instead managed the much more sophisticated, “Hey, Clint. I just wanted to say I had a really great time last night, and this morning. We should definitely do this again.”

 

“Absolutely,” Clint grinned. “My place next time. We can build a fort and stay up all night binging _Crazy Ex-Girlfriend_.”

 

 _I really am in love with this man,_ thought Phil. “Sounds great,” he said instead.

 

Clint drew back in for one last kiss. “Take care, Phil,” he said against his lips.

 

Phil watched him go, went back inside, made himself a cup of herbal tea, and settled onto the couch with a book, intent on spending the afternoon catching up on his leisure reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, key plot points for those who skipped:
> 
> Clint initiates sex with Phil. Before anything really happens, they talk, and Clint comes out to Phil. Turns out Phil had an ace girlfriend before, so he gets it and they talk about Clint's specific needs. Clint says he sometimes really likes sex, but most of the time isn't into it, so it's not likely to be something they do often. Clint says Phil should initiate whenever he wants, but that he needs to accept that rejection will be a reality. Phil is cool with this.
> 
> I think that's really the only important plot that happens in this chapter, to be honest...
> 
> Please leave comments and let me know if there's stuff you'd change!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it! No warnings for this chapter that I can think of. :)
> 
> If you've made it this far and are still reading, thank you so much!! Please do let me know what you liked/didn't so I can improve.

It was April 27th, and Phil and Clint had been dating for a little over two months. Things had been going surprisingly well, despite the fact that last week Phil had been called away suddenly for several days to a mission in Barbados, and he hadn’t been able to so much as send Clint a text to let him know where he was. A major benefit to dating a retired S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was that they didn’t panic unless you’d been gone for a couple of weeks, and even then they could check with Fury before worrying that anything was truly wrong.

 

No matter how well things had been going, though, Phil couldn’t help waiting for the other shoe to drop. Clint was perfect, and while they hadn’t had sex again since their first date (not for lack of offering on Phil’s part), they had fallen asleep together more times than he could count. Phil was falling deeper and deeper in love, and his history suggested that could only mean trouble.

 

Tonight, though, Phil was going to put all his worries aside, because tonight – well, tonight was Clint’s birthday. Phil had learned this vital piece of information on one of their first dates, and he intended to put it to good use.

 

Phil had got Clint a present he was sure he’d love – decorative leather arm guards that he could use for archery – but that wasn’t what he was most excited for tonight. No, Phil had plans.

 

Clint had mentioned about a month into their relationship that he’d never really had the chance to go through all the clichéd romantic tropes in his former relationships, and Phil had picked up on the note of wistfulness in his voice. As a result, he’d booked a romantic dinner out at Le Bernardin, followed by a chilly walk on the beach where he would give Clint his present, and then a ride in Lola back to Phil’s apartment for the _pièce de résistance_. Phil had been practicing his massage techniques, and had bought the oils and hot stone set necessary to give Clint the most relaxing night of his life. He’d even managed to coerce Jasper into sneaking in just before they got back to warm the stones and light the vanilla and lavender-scented candles he’d strategically placed around the room. There were going to be fucking _rose petals_. Phil was going all out.

 

Clint spent every day of his life taking care of other people, and Phil thought he deserved an evening to be taken care of in return.

 

Phil straightened his tie, checked that there were no wrinkles in his tux, and hopped into Lola to go pick Clint up for dinner.

 

When he arrived at Clint’s building, rather than texting to let him know he was there as he usually did, Phil found parking, got out of the car, and made his way up to Clint’s apartment. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

 

“One minute!” came the call from inside, and Phil heard shuffling for about twenty seconds before the door opened and he was face to face with his smiling boyfriend.

 

 _Boyfriend._ He’d never tire of hearing himself think that word.

 

“Happy birthday,” Phil said, and handed Clint the bouquet of purple and white lilies he’d had put together. Clint’s bright grin told him it was the right decision.

 

“Thank you,” Clint said, taking the lilies and breathing them in deeply. He then looked up at Phil and gave him a soft peck on the lips, before going back into the apartment to look for a vase.

 

“Sorry I’m a bit behind schedule,” Clint called over his shoulder as he opened and closed various cupboards in the kitchen. “I had an emergency appointment at the end of the day and it took me longer than I’d hoped to get out of there. I was just finishing with this stupid bowtie when you got here.”

 

Phil smirked. “You know we didn’t have to go this fancy if you didn’t want to, right? Much as I like seeing you in a tux, this isn’t my birthday.” Even as he said it, Phil was starting to retie Clint’s tie.

 

Clint pouted. “I wanna get all fancy and shit! It’s just, bow ties kinda suck. They’re stifling.”

 

Phil quirked an eyebrow. “Tell you what,” he said, undoing the bow tie and pulling it off over Clint’s head, “why don’t you go for the tux-without-a-tie look. Be like a sexier version of Daniel Craig.”

 

“Hmm, Daniel who?” Clint grinned and leaned forward to kiss Phil again.

 

After a few minutes of lazily making out, Phil pulled back and held Clint by the hand.

 

“You good?” he asked.

 

Clint nodded. “Let’s go.”

 

\---

 

Dinner was fantastic, and despite not growing up accustomed to fine dining, Clint seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. Phil couldn’t help smiling as he watched Clint gaze in wonder at every new dish that came out. They had ordered the Chef’s Tasting Menu with separate wine pairings for each course, and each serving had Clint reverting to more and more childlike glee. Phil imagined Clint hadn’t had too many gleeful moments in his actual childhood, so he was thrilled to be able to give him this one.

 

After dinner, they went for a drive and parked by the beach for a walk in the sand. The air outside was cold, and Phil wanted to offer Clint his jacket, but he didn’t think two tuxedo jackets would work very well, so he had thought ahead and brought blankets for them each to wrap around their shoulders as they walked.

 

Phil gave Clint his present, and Clint actually squealed with joy when he opened it. He then proceeded to hand Phil his jacket and roll up his shirt sleeves to try the arm guards on. When he started leaping around, miming taking shots at everything from trees to seagulls, Phil couldn’t help but think he was the luckiest man alive.

 

Eventually, it got too cold for either of them to want to stand around, even with the blankets, so they made their way back to Lola. Phil sent off a quick text to Jasper, and they were off.

 

Clint jabbered the whole way back in the car, and seemed surprised when he looked up to find them at Phil’s apartment.

 

“I can take you home if you’d rather,” Phil said, “but I thought you might want to sleep here tonight? Besides,” he bit his lip, “I do have one more surprise for you if you don’t mind.”

 

Clint lit up at the word “surprise” and nodded his agreement. They got out of the car and made their way all the way up to Phil’s door before Phil stopped and pulled out a blindfold.

 

Clint frowned at him curiously.

 

“For the surprise?” Phil asked. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but…”

 

“No, that’s fine,” said Clint. “I trust you.”

 

Gently, Phil wrapped the blindfold around Clint’s eyes, then checked that it felt okay. When Clint replied in the affirmative, Phil got out his keys and unlocked the door. He led Clint carefully through the living room and past Jasper, who gave him a thumbs up on his way out. He brought Clint to the bedroom door and stopped him.

 

“Ready?” he asked. Clint nodded.

 

He took a deep breath, then untied the blindfold and drew it away from Clint’s eyes. He watched as Clint blinked, taking in the candles, the rose petals, the massage oils on the bedside table…

 

And froze.

 

Clint stood stock still, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. Phil frowned, looking around the room and racking his brain for what could possibly be wrong.

 

“Uh,” Clint started, then abruptly stopped. He took a breath, then tried again. “Phil, I –”

 

 _Shit._ In a sudden moment of horrifying clarity, Phil realized what this looked like. Clint must think – _oh, god_ , that Phil had orchestrated this night with a view to… _sex._ Not that Clint was universally averse to sex, of course, and he had said Phil could ask, but… this was completely different from casually asking if he could suck Clint’s dick while they were cuddling on the couch. This was – well, it was coercion, is what it was. Clint must think Phil wanted him to _owe_ him sex, because they’d had such a nice night out, and Phil had paid for the expensive meal, and there had been presents, and he’d put so much effort into the preparation, and –

 

“Iwanttogiveyouamassage!” Phil blurted, voice cracking as he did. _God_ , could he have possibly fucked this up any more than he had?

 

“I mean,” he continued, slightly more quietly, but still rushed and panicky, “Not like, a sexy-times massage, just a regular massage, you know, like you do at Hawkeye’s or whatever. I mean, obviously not quite the same as that, but for relaxation purposes, no sex involved, no expectations, nothing. I swear. _Fuck_ , I didn’t even realize – this is going to sound stupid, but I promise I didn’t think at all about what this looked like. It’s just – every day you’re giving and giving and making life easier for people, helping them relax, helping _me_ relax and live a healthier, happier life, and what do you ever get in return? You get called in to save the world on Christmas, you get thankless customers, you get stuck in fucking New York traffic, you get saddled with a boyfriend who has to cancel plans on you last-minute half the time, you – I just wanted to give something back, to help you relax, so I’ve been practicing massage techniques, I swear I wasn’t trying to –”

 

“I love you.”

 

Phil froze.

 

“What?” he said, carefully.

 

“Phil,” Clint said, “This is amazing, and sweet, and lovely, and – I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” Phil answered mechanically, dumbfounded.

 

Clint smiled, and Phil’s knees actually buckled in relief. He made his way to the bed to sit down and put his head in his hands.

 

“Sorry for panicking,” Clint continued. “Truly, Phil, this is wonderful. This whole night has been wonderful, and I honestly don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

 

Phil opened his mouth to tell Clint just exactly what he’d done to deserve him, but before he could get the words out, Clint came to sit beside him and started again, hand on Phil’s knee.

 

“Look, Phil, I – I have some trust issues, you know that, but they’re from other relationships, okay? They have nothing to do with you. You’ve given me every reason to trust you, Phil, and no reason not to. I – I should have known it wasn’t what it looked like, because you would never try to pressure me into sex. I know that. And you’d certainly never think to surprise me with it. So yeah, the rose petals and candles may have been the wrong choice, or maybe you should have told me what was happening instead of blindfolding me, or whatever, but – this is perfect, just as I had every reason to believe my birthday with you would be. So thank you. And I love you.”

 

Phil was just staring at Clint during his speech. He… really? _He loves me._ The amount of time Phil had spent trying to hold back those very words, worried it was too soon, too fast, suddenly caught up with him, and he dove forward to kiss Clint deeply.

 

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…” he repeated like a mantra into Clint’s lips. It made Clint laugh, but that wasn’t a bad thing, so Phil kept going until Clint eventually pulled back.

 

“So… I think you owe me a massage?” Clint said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

 

Phil rolled his eyes.

 

“Get over here, you…” he said, then maneuvered Clint off the bed and helped him strip down to his boxers. He positioned him face down on the bed, then took off his own tux and moved to get the various massage oils he’d bought ready.

 

He moved over to Clint, picked out a soothing oil, and warmed it up between his hands. He took a deep breath and thought back through the various techniques he’d learned.

 

“Let me take care of you,” he said. And then he did.


End file.
